Turbulence
by ddpjclaf
Summary: *RE-POST* While dealing with a loss, Clary befriends her new neighbor's troubled foster-son. Can their friendship help them let go of the pain or will their pasts intervene and rip them apart? (Due to Fanfiction disabling the C&P ability, I am re-posting this story here. Thank you to all who have been so supportive!)
1. Fields

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

* * *

_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

* * *

_**Chapter 1: Fields**_

_Chapter Songs: _

_Possibility by Lykke Li_

_From Where You Are by Lifehouse _

* * *

Four months. Not a long span of time to most people weaving their way through life. Ones whose days continued in the same monotonous rituals they'd held for as long as they could remember. But to Clary, four months was not just a mere passage of time, an insignificant number by which to measure the days past.

Four months meant change.

Devastation.

Heartbreak.

It meant loss.

And it had been that exact amount of time since Clary had been to the fields. In the days and months prior, she'd come every day with her brother Jonathan. She'd sat in the stands and sketched while he practiced shooting and dribbling as it was his goal to make starting forward his senior year. Yet now, that would never happen.

Clary swiped a tear from her cheek as the sun broke over the horizon, bathing the dew-covered grass in pale light. White lines had been recently chalked and shone bright against the emerald sea stretching out before her. The goals were in place—minus the nets—most likely for practice, which should've been starting soon. Part of her wondered why she thought she could handle this, being in this place without him, but another part never felt closer to Jonathan than here.

She missed him.

If she closed her eyes and really concentrated, she could still see his vibrant smile and shining blond hair.

Shaking her head, she tried to push the thoughts of him aside, but only managed in bringing forth a flood of much more disturbing images and sounds.

_The screech of tires against wet pavement pierced her ears, as the loud crunch of metal echoed through her memory. Spider-webbing cracks stretched across the windshield in front of her. Warm fluid trailed from her hairline into her eyes, turning everything in her vision red. Pain throbbed through her head, making it nearly impossible to stay conscious. _

_But she did and somehow managed to turn, looking for Jonathan. He was there, slumped forward in his seat. His head hung and his eyes closed, blood masking his beautiful face. Clary called his name, reached out, and shook his shoulder. But he did not respond. His chest stood perfectly still._

A straggled cry escaped Clary's lips as the memories assaulted her. She leaned over, buried her face in her knees, and wrapped her hands around her legs. Her body shook with grief and painful questions. Why had she insisted on going out that night? It wasn't like she'd needed ice cream right then. The weatherman had warned of the storm all day, warned that it could come up suddenly, but the skies were clear when they left. Surely there would've been at least some sign it was coming, she had told herself.

But there was none.

Not a speck of rain. Not a cloud in the sky—until the thunder rolled and the rain pounded down. In an instant, the dreamy, sun-filled day turned into one of nightmares.

The sound of feet moving and the pattering of a ball rolling over crisp grass pulled Clary out of her memories. She lifted her head, spying a figure at the other end of the field. By the stance it looked like a boy, but the light was still dim and made identifying the person nearly impossible. Not once in all the times she and Jonathan had watched the sunrise here had anyone else come, so seeing this person took Clary by surprise.

As the sun's rays stretched further across the field, she could finally make out the person before her. Tall, lean, blond, and definitely male.

He stood at the goal opposite her wearing a black hoodie and shorts, dribbling a ball in a zig-zag pattern. Running down the field, he passed the ball between his feet, taking turns dribbling with his left and right—his left looking slightly more dominant. Clary had never paid much attention to anyone playing soccer before, besides Jonathan, and had always thought he was the best player in the world. But this boy—whoever he was—moved with such grace, such precision, in a magnitude she'd never seen.

He stopped at midfield, toed the ball, flung it into the air, and juggled it off his ankle, knee, head, chest, and then to his foot once more. Letting it fall back to the ground, he leaned over slightly, his hands hanging loosely in front of him as if he were about to start a race. Clary saw his shoulders rise and fall with a breath, and then he took off, the ball never moving far in front of him. He ran as if he weren't pushing a ball down the field, like it didn't even register in his mind. His control was astounding.

As he neared the goal, Clary felt her own heart race with excitement. She'd always loved watching Jonathan play, but this boy's skills were beyond any she'd seen before. He'd reached the goal box by then and lashed out, sending the ball flying through the air and sinking right in the top right corner.

Clary wanted to jump up and cheer, but caught herself just in time. Glancing down at her hands, she realized that watching the boy had completely taken her mind off from Jonathan—something that hadn't happened since that day back in March. Guilt flooded over her for forgetting him, even for just that brief moment.

On the day they put him in the ground she made a vow to herself to never let him leave her mind. To never forget the blame she held for his death. Her mother, Jocelyn, had sent her to therapists to try to dispel the guilt Clary felt, but she refused to let it go. Jonathan had lost his life, and with it went hers. In her mind, she didn't deserve happiness, absolution. There was no denying it. It just was.

When the boy's back was to the bleachers, Clary stood and made her way to the street, continuing down the three blocks to her home. The road was busier now, people leaving to go to work, continuing on with their lives when she couldn't.

After several minutes her home came into view: a white two-story with a full length covered porch, complete with a swing and blue shutters. A huge U-haul took up the street in front of a neighboring house. The nearly identical residence had been for sale for several months, and just last week a sold sign had been placed in the yard. It would be strange having someone else living there. Clary and Aline, the girl who'd lived there previously, had grown up together and had been good friends up until her father's transfer last winter. The last time she'd seen her was at Jonathan's funeral.

Turning her gaze from the white and orange truck, Clary started up the walk to her house. She tried her hardest to keep her eyes from the stones that lined the path, the ones containing hers and Jonathan's handprints from each year of their life. Tears stung her eyes and she stopped just shy of the porch, gathering her wits and forcing the sobs back. Slowly making her way to the swing, she sat, covered her face with her hands, and took a few deep breaths. At that moment, she heard a screen door slam and voices move across the lawn next door.

"Why am I bringing his stuff in? He can do it himself." A girl's voice echoed through the empty space between the houses.

"He said to leave it, Izzy. You know how he is with change. He just needed a break." A boy's voice answered.

"A 'break' my ass, Alec. He just took off so we'd have to do it for him."

Clary heard the boy, Alec, sigh. "Fine. Don't help then. I'll do it myself."

"Fine!" A loud bang sounded from inside the truck. "Keep babying him, Alec. Keep reinforcing his issues and he'll never get over them."

"You know it's not something that's easy to just 'get over.' You should be more sensitive."

Izzy snorted. "Sensitive? Oh, that's classic. I should be sensitive to _him_? Give me a break." More slamming and crashing sounds came from the truck.

Clary stood and walked to the front door, eager to escape inside so her new neighbors wouldn't know she had overheard their discussion. Just as she reached out and grabbed the knob, she heard the girl's voice again.

"Oh, hey!"

Clary turned toward the voice, which sounded much closer than before. Her eyes fell on a girl about her age, with long black hair that fell to her mid-back. She was dressed in tight black pants, chunky boots, and a matching fitted top.

"Hi," Clary said weakly, her grief still clouding her throat.

The girl smiled and boldly climbed the steps, sticking out her hand. "I'm Isabelle. And that," she gestured over her shoulder to a boy slightly older than her, that stood just outside the truck, "is my brother, Alec." His coloring matched hers so it was no surprise they were siblings.

Clary reached forward and took Isabelle's hand. "Clary. It's nice to meet you." She glanced back at the overflowing truck behind Alec. "Do you need some help?"

Isabelle raised her brows. "Oh, you don't have to—"

Clary waved her hand in the air. "It's no big deal. I'm not doing anything else today anyway. Just let me tell my mom where I'll be." She paused. "Do you want to come in? I'm sure she'd like to meet you."

Isabelle shrugged. "Sure." She turned for a moment to Alec and held up a finger, indicating she'd be right back.

Clary led Isabelle into her house. She knew her mother, Jocelyn, would most likely be in her studio busying herself with her latest project. Ever since Jonathan died, Jocelyn had immersed herself in her craft more than ever before. Clary knew it was her mother's way of coping, and it seemed to be helping her, but Clary couldn't help but miss her mom, miss the way she used to be.

As they passed through the living area, Isabelle stopped abruptly at the shelving unit and picked up a photograph. "Wow. Who's this?" She turned the photo toward Clary.

Clary's chest clenched as she took in the dancing dark eyes, pale blond hair, and wide smile. "Um, that's my brother Jonathan." Her voice broke when his name left her lips.

Isabelle frowned, flipped the picture back over, and studied it again. "He doesn't look like you."

Clary bit her lip. "No. He resembled our father more. I look like Mom."

Isabelle glanced up. "Resembled?" She caught the past tense.

Clary swallowed hard and nodded, looking away. "Yeah. He died last spring."

"Oh." Isabelle's eyes widened. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—" She set the photo back on the shelf.

Clary attempted to smile. "It's okay." She cleared her throat. "My mom's probably in her studio."

"Studio?"

"Yeah, she's an artist." She led Isabelle up the stairs. "She has a little shop in town where she sells her stuff and crafting supplies. It's pretty cool. I work there a few days a week."

"What about your dad? What's he do?"

"He was a lawyer." Clary looked at Isabelle and saw her grimace. She smiled and shook her head. "It's okay. I never knew him. He died before I was born."

Isabelle nodded and glanced around nervously. It was a normal response, Clary was finding. When people found out their family had suffered two deaths, most looked at them differently after that. It was tragic, yes, but more than anything Clary just wished people could look at her as Clary, and not the girl who lost both her dad and her brother.

Booming base from her mother's music vibrated through the hall and got louder as they approached the door. Clary twisted the knob and pushed it open. Jocelyn stood with her back to them, her head swaying to the beat.

"Mom," Clary called out.

Jocelyn turned, her eyebrows raised and her mouth fixed in an "O" shape. Her auburn hair was pulled into a messy bun and held in place by a small paintbrush. Loose wisps fell and framed her face. She stood and wiped her paint-covered hands on her overalls. Her eyes danced between Clary and Isabelle.

"Mom, this is Isabelle. Her family is moving in next door."

Jocelyn's face lit up. "Oh! I'm Jocelyn. It's nice to meet you." She stuck her stained hand out to Isabelle, who hesitated briefly while inspecting it for wet paint, and then took it. "Where are you moving from?"

"From the city."

"Really? What made your family decide to move out here?"

Isabelle looked down uncomfortably as if she really didn't want to answer.

Seeing this, Clary cleared her throat. "Um, Mom, they're in the middle of moving stuff in. I said I would help them out, so I wanted to tell you where I'd be."

"Oh, okay," Jocelyn said, effectively distracted from her earlier question. "I'll be leaving for the shop soon, so take your keys because I'm going to lock up."

Clary nodded and turned to Isabelle. "Well, I'm all yours."

Isabelle smiled and then turned her attention to Jocelyn. "Thanks for letting us borrow Clary. We'll get her back to you mostly unscathed."

Jocelyn smiled and waved to them as they made their way back out the door.

"Mostly unscathed?" Clary asked, raising one brow.

"Yeah. I have three brothers, so, you know . . ."

Clary stopped just as they'd exited the house. "Three?"

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "I know, right? Why my parents couldn't produce at least one other double X is beyond me."

Clary laughed as they made their way across the yard to the truck. She liked Isabelle. Although, she wasn't quite sure how she felt about three boys running around. "So, your brothers . . ."

Isabelle flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Yeah. Well, you saw Alec. He's eighteen and is going to college this fall. And then there's Max, he's only nine." She leaned over and picked up a box near the back of the truck. Clary followed her lead and took one herself. The girls started toward the house.

"And the third?"

Isabelle huffed. "Jace. He's a total ass."

"You don't get along?"

"Jace doesn't get along with anyone." She smirked at Clary. "You'll see."

A nervous giggle escaped her throat as she followed Isabelle up the stairs.

Isabelle glanced over at the box Clary held and rolled her eyes. Juggling her own package with her knee and one arm, she pointed to the room across the hall. "That one goes in there."

Clary nodded and turned toward the room. Once inside she walked over to the wall, placed the box on top of another and stood, realizing at once that this room was the exact opposite of hers and she could see straight into hers through the bare window. Thinking to herself that she needed to remember to keep her shades drawn, she spun around and ran smack into someone else, knocking the box right out of their hands. It toppled over, scattering its contents across the wood floor. Without looking up, she squatted and began scooping up the books and trophies that had fallen out, placing them back in the box.

"I'm—oh—so—God—sorry." Her face flared as she continued to throw the contents back where they'd come from.

Finally, she chanced a glance up and wished she hadn't. Crouching across from her was another boy, but this one looked nothing like Isabelle. His annoyed golden eyes stared at her and a mess of blond curls hung over his forehead. As hard as she tried, she could not manage to move her gaze from his.

"Uh," she tried to verbalize once more, "Um." Her cheeks burned again at her inability to speak like an intelligent person.

He pinched his brows together. "Do you suffer from some sort of speech impediment? Or does my mere presence render you incapable of uttering anything other than incoherent syllables?"

Clary let out a slow breath and stood. He followed. She glanced up at him and narrowed her eyes. "Are you always this big of a jerk to people you don't know?"

"Yes, he is," Isabelle's voice came from the doorway. "Clary, this is Jace—the ass I was telling you about."

Jace turned toward Isabelle. "Why are you talking about my ass to complete strangers? And furthermore, what's she doing in my room?"

"You know, I'm standing right here," Clary said, allowing irritation to saturate her voice. "You don't have to talk like I'm not."

Slowly Jace faced her, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Fine, Clary is it?"

She nodded.

"What you are doing in my room?"

Clary straightened her posture in an attempt to seem confident. "I was helping Isabelle bring some boxes in." She turned and pointed to the one she'd placed against the wall. "She told me to bring it in here."

He continued to stare at her, making her twitch with nervousness.

"If you'd like I could take it back downstairs and you can bring it back up yourself."

One corner of his mouth perked up in a lazy smile. "No, that won't be necessary."

Clary rolled her eyes and attempted to move past him, but managed to catch her foot on the box he'd dropped and pitched forward. Just before she hit the ground, Jace reached out and caught her, his arms wrapping around her waist. He pulled her upright, keeping his hands just above her hips as he steadied her.

She jerked out of his grasp. "Thanks." Smoothing her hands over her rumpled clothing, she looked at him.

He pursed his lips. "Difficulties walking and talking . . . If I were you I'd get that checked. A girl your age should be able to do both without a problem."

Clary let out a huff, pivoted on her heel, and stormed out of his room. Isabelle caught her as she came through the door and flung her arm over her shoulder. "See? Complete ass."

"You weren't kidding," Clary mumbled as she glanced back at him.

Jace stood near the door, pawing through one of the boxes. As if he could sense her gaze, he looked up. In an effort to hide her chagrin, Clary narrowed her eyes and whipped her head back to the front, but not before heat flooded her cheeks once again. To her embarrassment, his cocky grin let her know her blush hadn't gone unnoticed.


	2. Curiosity

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

* * *

_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

* * *

**_Chapter 2: Curiosity_**

_Chapter Songs:_

_Trust Me by The Fray (Scenes 1&2)_

_Boston by Augustana (Scene 3) __*Lyrics to Boston are owned by Augustana_

* * *

"So, Jace," Clary said, her cheeks warming with the mention of his name. She silently chastised herself at the ridiculous reaction. It wasn't like he was even nice or anything. But there was something about him, something that made her curious. Something that lurked behind the sarcasm and uncaring demeanor he portrayed. She projected an image herself. One everyone expected to see, not the one that really existed underneath. So, she sort of got it. "He doesn't look like you."

Isabelle bent over, pulling an enormous pile of clothes out of a box and proceeded to tuck them into a large wooden dresser. "That's because he's my foster brother."

"Oh." That explained a lot.

"Yeah, he came to live with us about five years ago—when he was about twelve." She shoved another armful into a drawer. "My parents are still trying to adopt him—stupid process takes forever." Her eyes met Clary's and a flash of emotion shot through them. "I'm sorry if he hurt your feelings earlier. He has problems acting human most of the time."

Clary waved Isabelle's comment away. "He didn't. My brother—" She paused as her voice caught, wondering if that reaction would ever go away. "My brother was pretty sarcastic. I can take it." Clary looked down at her hands and fiddled with her fingers before speaking again. "He seems—I don't know—like—like there's—I don't know—something else behind all that bravado." She didn't really know what she was saying. It was just that she liked to try to see the best in people. Sarcasm and coldness couldn't be all there was to Jace.

Isabelle sighed and sat on one of the closed boxes nearby. "I don't know. I'm ashamed to say we don't talk all that much—other than to make jabs at one another." She smiled sadly. "He's just so difficult, but I guess that's to be expected. He had a pretty crappy childhood—though Alec, Max, and I don't really know much of anything about that. He won't talk about it."

"Do your parents—"

Isabelle shook her head. "Not much. Only the basics. And they haven't shared that with us. They figure Jace will tell us when he wants to."

"Oh." Clary glanced to Isabelle's open door, seeing a sliver of light from Jace's room across the hall. He and Alec had left to return the U-haul after they'd finished unpacking it. She couldn't help but wonder what hid underneath the armor of the sarcastic boy next door.

.o.O.o.

Jace leaned against the counter, his long fingers drumming against the Formica top impatiently. They'd been waiting fifteen minutes for the douche behind the counter to figure out how to charge them for the six extra miles they put on the truck. He figured this was something that would have been taught on training day, but what did he know? He'd never held any sort of job, so maybe they did really stick morons like this guy out there to wait on people with only the knowledge of a pea to back them up. Sad but unsurprising.

Alec stood next to him, passing a credit card to the cashier. "So what did you think of Clary?" He eyed Jace curiously.

Jace rolled his eyes. Alec always did this when Isabelle brought friends over. Like he thought Jace would hit on every one of them. He wasn't that big of a man-whore. "What makes you think I thought anything of her?"

"Because you always have an opinion on everyone you meet."

Jace thought for a moment. He didn't quite know what to think of the redhead next door. "She's weird."

Alec laughed. "Why, because she didn't fall in love with you the instant she saw you? She didn't stammer jumbled words in her awe over you?"

"For your information, she actually did sputter incoherently. The theory of my irresistibility to those of the female persuasion still holds true." He reached over and grabbed a pen out of a cup full of them, twirling it between his fingers. "And it's not love anyway—what those girls feel for me. It's more like . . . infatuation." He dropped the pen back where he'd gotten it. "They realize I'm not interested in anything more than what I give them. And they just want me for one thing anyway."

"Which is?"

Jace shrugged. "Bragging rights. I mean, who wouldn't want to get with this?" He swept his hand down his body with an exaggerated motion.

Alec rolled his eyes. "Your ego knows no bounds." He shook his head as he collected the receipt and credit card from the guy behind the counter. Tucking his wallet into his pocket, he turned to Jace. "Look, do us all a favor all right? Leave Clary alone. Let Isabelle have a friend that you don't taint for once. She needs someone in her life and Clary seems like a sweet girl."

Jace chuckled as he followed Alec back out to the car. "They all seem like sweet girls, Alec."

"Yeah, until you're done with them," Alec muttered as he plopped into the driver's seat and Jace climbed into the passenger side. "Come on, just this once, prove to Isabelle you can think about someone other than yourself for a change."

"Whatever," he said as he stared out the window, watching a group of kids ride by on skateboards and BMX bikes. "She's not my type anyway."

Alec scoffed. "Every girl is your type."

Jace smiled but didn't turn back to Alec. He was wrong in thinking Jace wasn't selective in female companions. He had standards. It just seemed like most of the time he didn't because there were so many conquests to choose from. He had his pick, so to speak. Normally, he selected the most enthusiastic, most insecure, most gullible of the bunch—not because that's what he liked, per se—but because it was easy. He didn't have to worry about having to work too hard to get what he wanted out of them. They were eager to please. After all, it wasn't everyday someone like him called on them. It was a win-win for all involved—at least that's how he saw it. They got the attention they craved, and he got his needs met. Those girls were shallow, safe.

But this girl—Clary—he didn't quite know what to think of her. She seemed different from other girls. When she looked at him, she didn't show attraction or want, she looked . . . questioning, speculative, like she could see straight through him. It unnerved him more than he let on. Clary was definitely an enigma. Beneath the sad, vulnerable, insecure surface was something more. He didn't know what it was but he'd felt it when she'd dished it right back to him. Never shedding a tear, never standing down. He couldn't deny he was intrigued. What was it about this girl that had Alec all of a sudden warning him to stay away? Not that he'd had any intentions toward her in the first place. But now—well, all things forbidden made Jace a little more curious, and curiosity plus Jace was never a good combo.

.o.O.o.

The remnants of the sun burned across the sky in deep reds and oranges by the time Clary left the Lightwood's that evening. She trudged up the stairs and fell onto her bed fully dressed, sleep coming within moments. The combination of rising early and working all day exhausted her more than she'd been in a long time. It felt good, and for once, her dreams were not filled with the sounds of crunching metal and the smell of blood. She slept soundly for the first time in many months.

She awoke in the morning to the sound of her phone buzzing on the nightstand. Reaching out, she slapped her hand over the vibrating nuisance and flipped it open, placing it against her ear.

"Hello?" she croaked into the receiver.

"Are you still asleep? It's almost 9:30."

Clary smiled through her sleepy haze. "Simon. Are you back?"

"Not yet. We're still on the road. Mom needed more coffee, so I'm standing here surrounded by truckers who haven't showered in at least three days. I figured you'd like to share in my misery, so I called. Why are you still in bed?"

"How can you tell I'm still in bed?" Clary stretched and let out a little squeak.

"Because you sound all groggy and happy. That can only mean you're still in the throws of drooling."

"I don't drool, Simon."

"Uh, yeah you do. My soaked shoulder after a zombie-a-thon on your couch is testament enough to that."

Clary laughed and cradled the phone between her shoulder and her ear. "When are you going to be back?"

"With the way my mom drives? I'll be lucky to be sleeping in my own sheets by New Years." Someone shouted in the background. "All right! I'm coming." Simon's muffled voice came through the earpiece and then turned clear again. "Apparently Mom is properly caffeinated so it's time to move out. Hopefully we'll be back tomorrow evening."

"Thank God! This summer has been so boring without you. But, at least I got a new neighbor."

"Really? Anyone interesting?"

Clary smiled. "I think you'll approve."

"Cool. Is she hot?"

"I'll let you be the judge of that. You better go before your mom throws a fit."

"Yeah, all right. Later, Fray."

"Later, Lewis."

Clary stretched once more and placed the phone back on her nightstand. She sat up and rolled her shoulders, pain tweaking in the left one. Reaching up, she rubbed the tender muscle and stood. With a sigh, she walked over to her dresser, pulled out clean under clothes, jeans, and a top. Yawning, she trudged out into the quiet hall. Her mom must have left for the store already. Just to make sure, Clary peered into the studio, finding it empty just like she assumed.

Stepping into the bathroom, she made her way over to the shower, dropped her pile of clothes next to the sink, and leaned over, twisting the knobs to turn the water on. As it heated up, she stripped off her old shirt and pants, threw them in the hamper, and then moved under the hot spray. She took her time, washing away the sweat and grime from the day before and loosening her sore muscles in the process. When she finished she quickly dressed and pulled a brush through her tangled locks. As soon as she was through, it started curling up and frizzing as it dried. With a groan, she parted it down the middle and proceeded to braid each side. She frowned at her reflection. The combination of her big green eyes, fire-red hair, freckles, and braids made her look even younger than her almost sixteen years.

She sighed and left the bathroom, pausing for a moment at the next door. Placing her hand against the smooth wood and leaning her forehead against it, she closed her eyes and whispered, "Good Morning, Jonathan." She hadn't been able to bring herself to open it and go inside since the accident. Even though more than anything, she wanted to be surrounded by his things, his presence. She just couldn't make herself take that next step.

Continuing down the stairs, she steered herself into the kitchen, grabbed a package of Poptarts and a big glass of milk, and then sat at the kitchen table. She didn't have to work that afternoon and wondered what she might do with her day. Isabelle had said she would be gone in the morning but should be back around eleven. They'd gone to pick up their dad and little brother from the airport.

Clary glanced at the clock and saw it was quarter to eleven already. Throwing her trash in the garbage and rinsing her cup, she walked toward the front door. She figured she'd try Isabelle now. If she wasn't back yet, Clary would come back home and maybe draw for awhile.

The screen door opened with a creek and the bright sun shone warm and inviting down on her. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the light, basking in the refreshing heat. With a deep breath, she opened her eyes and started over to the Lightwood's.

As she climbed their front steps, she heard the soft sound of a piano. Furrowing her brows, she finished her assent and stood directly outside the window. It was open, the curtains pushed aside. Inside she spied a black baby grand piano and nothing else in the spacious formal living room. At the bench sat Jace—a highly unexpected sight. She just hadn't considered him the musical type.

Scooting to the side and hiding out of view, she continued to watch. She could only see his profile, but from what she saw, it looked as though his eyes were closed, his fingers moving lightly over the keys. After a moment, she realized she knew the tune but couldn't quite place it. She listened for a little longer, but it wasn't until he started singing that she finally recognized the song.

_*In the light of the sun, is there anyone? Oh, it has begun . . .  
Oh dear you look so lost, eyes are red and tears are shed,  
This world you must've crossed . . . you said . . ._

_You don't know me, you don't even care, oh yeah,  
She said you don't know me, and you don't wear my chains . . . _

_Oh, yeah . . . yeah_

Her breath hitched as the lyrics pierced through her. It was a song she'd listened to often after Jonathan's death. It portrayed her exact feelings at the time. Her sadness, her yearning to leave the pain behind and just disappear. If she was honest, she still felt that way most of the time. No one seemed to understand. She knew she wasn't the only one grieving but everyone else was able to move on at least in some capacity. Yet there she was, stuck in the thick of her grief. It never lessened, never left her.

_Essential yet appealed, carry all your thoughts across an open field,  
When flowers gaze at you . . . _

_They're not the only ones who cry when they see you  
You said . . .You don't know me, you don't even care . . ._

_Oh, yeah . . .  
She said… You don't know me, and you don't wear my chains... _

_Oh, yeah_

She closed her eyes and let Jace's voice wash over her, let it draw the pain out and seep through her pours. As many times as she'd listened to the song before, never had it affected her in this way. Maybe it was the fact that it was live, or maybe it was because the raw pain in Jace's voice as he sang made her feel less alone. She didn't know what he'd been through, but according to Isabelle, it had been bad. She wondered if it had been as awful as what she'd lived through. Wondered if it was the reason for him to act the way he did. Why he shut everyone out and pushed everyone away.

_She said I think I'll go to Boston . . .  
I think I'll start a new life,  
I think I'll start over, where no one knows my name,  
I'll get out of California, I'm tired of the weather,  
I think I'll get a lover and fly him out to Spain . . ._

Opening her eyes, she peeked back in. His eyes were still closed and the emotion on his face was almost unbearable to see. She recognized that look; she'd worn it almost every day since the accident.

_I think I'll go to Boston,  
I think that I'm just tired  
I think I need a new town, to leave this all behind . . .  
I think I need a sunrise, I'm tired of the sunset,  
I hear it's nice in the summer, some snow would be nice . . ._

_Oh, yeah_

The music and his posture as he bent over the keys captivated her. She'd never seen someone play with so much competence before. Someone who seemed to _feel_ the music rather than just play it. His entire body vibrated with it. It sort of reminded her of her mother when she was totally immersed in a new painting. The way she threw all of herself into it. Her heart, her body, her soul. This was the impression she got from Jace as he stroked the keys under his long, slender fingers.

_Boston . . . where no one knows my name . . . yeah  
Where no one knows my name . . .  
Where no one knows my name . . ._

Clary knew she should look away. Should respect his privacy in what seemed to be a very personal moment. But she just couldn't pull herself from the beauty of it. The beauty of a seemingly unfeeling, closed off boy, laid bare in front of her, his emotions right on the surface.

_Yeah . . . Boston . . .  
Where no one knows my name . . ._

The music ended, but Clary didn't move. She no longer looked at him, but she could feel him there. Still seated and motionless. His pain sparked off from him, hot and strong.

After a few moments, she stood and made her way to the door. She wiped her face clean of emotion and lifted her hand, knocking rapidly on the thick wood. Footsteps sounded from inside, coming from the direction of the front room. She knew it would be Jace who answered.

The knob twisted and the door opened, revealing him before her. For a millisecond, she got a close up view of the emotions on his face before he covered them once more with his trademark blank look. His eyes slid down and then back up as if her were assessing her. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe, his brows raised.

"Is that an invitation?" He gestured to Clary's shirt with one hand, before tucking it back against him once more.

Confused, Clary glanced down at her shirt. With embarrassed understanding, her cheeks flared as she read the words "Gimme Some Sugar" written across her chest. "Uh, not in the least." She hadn't even realized what she was putting on that morning; if she had, it wouldn't have been this particular shirt.

"Hmm, since you're not here for a kiss, to what do we owe the pleasure, Pippi?"

Clary cocked a brow. "Pippi?"

Jace reached out and flicked one of Clary's braids. "Yeah, you know, long, red braids, annoying skip, save the world attitude."

"I didn't realize we were to the nick-naming stage of our relationship quite yet. I guess you won't mind if I call you Goldilocks then?"

He smirked. "Well, if you'd like, but I should warn you that I'm not all that fond of porridge—although I am quite particular about the softness of anything I sleep on or with, so you have me there."

Clary crossed her own arms over her chest. "And you have the disposition of a bear rather than a human?"

Jace frowned, and if Clary didn't know better, looked slightly hurt by her comment. "Isabelle's not here. She'll be back soon though if you want to wait."

"No, that's okay. Can you just tell her I came by?"

"I suppose, though I may growl it out instead of tell her—since I am bear-like and all." He flashed her his cocky half-grin letting Clary know she definitely had not ruffled his feathers by her earlier statement.

"I'm sure she's versed enough in your bear sounds to make out the message." Clary turned and started toward the stairs, pausing just as she lifted her foot to step down the first tread. She cocked her head back around and met Jace's eyes. "You know, you're really good," she jerked her head toward the front room window, "on the piano."

Jace stared at her for a moment, blinking a couple of times as if she'd caught him off guard. "Thanks."

Clary raised her brows. "Was that actually a polite word coming out of your mouth, Goldie?"

He smoothed any indication of his surprise off his face and scowled. "You better run along home now, Pippi. Just in case the world needs saving."

Clary couldn't help the smile from breaking over her lips. "You're welcome, Jace." She turned and clamored down the steps, her smile never leaving her face as she crossed the yard and climbed her stairs, disappearing into the confines of her own house.

.o.O.o.

Jace closed the door behind Clary and leaned against it, letting out a slow breath. She'd heard him play. Had she seen as well? Music was something he indulged in only when he was alone. It was too easy to lose himself in it and he never did that with an audience. Normally, he stuck to his guitar because he was rarely without company in the house and it was quieter. But the piano was where he felt most comfortable.

He glanced out the window and watched the red-haired girl cross the yard, a smile still plastered on her face. His lips tweaked up in the corners. Usually he would be upset if someone heard him, invaded his private time. But for some reason, he didn't feel anger. He felt, surprisingly, calm. A little less lonely. A little less closed off. Almost like he'd shared a piece of himself with someone else. Something he hadn't done in more years than he could remember. And the best part was, she had no idea. No clue what she'd witnessed. She just thought he was a good musician. He hoped she didn't realize she'd just witnessed his soul laid out there for the world to see.

Who would have thought it would be the mostly unknown girl next door that would see him unguarded before even his own family. In a way, he sort of liked the idea. Liked that someone—even if it was unknown to them—had seen what really lived inside. With that thought, he made his way back to the bench and sat. He reached out and laid his fingers against the ivory keys, closed his eyes, and played the first thing that came to mind_._


	3. Treading Water

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

* * *

_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

* * *

_**Chapter 3: Treading Water**_

_Chapter Songs:_

_Hear You Me by Jimmy Eat World_

_Shake It by Metro Station _

* * *

_Lightning flashed, illuminating the lines of his face in yellow light. His lips stretched up into an all encompassing smile, laugh lines crowding the corners of his dark eyes. He stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes. Clary laughed at the stupid face he made, reaching over to punch him in the shoulder like always. Her fist passed through his form and he dissipated under her touch. The grin left her face as she peered at his empty seat, panic rising in her chest. Her hand grazed the cool leather, searching for even a fraction of the warmth he may have left behind but there was nothing. Just cold, empty pain. _

_ The black sky turned a violent red and moisture fell from the heavens. Brilliant crimson rain splattered against the fractured windshield. Clary flicked on the wipers but only succeeded in smearing the offending drops across the glass. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she tried in vain to clean the blood away. It was too much and she couldn't handle seeing it. Not now, not here. _

_ "Please, please, please," she called out as her shaking hands twisted the dial fruitlessly._

_ A sound outside her window startled her and she whipped her head toward it. Jonathan stood on the other side, his brows pinched together and his mouth turned down into a frown. Clary placed her palm against the glass, wanting more than anything to reach out and touch him again. The red rain fell over him, coating his body in thick, sticky liquid. He traced his finger across the glass separating their hands. More tears overflowed onto her face._

_ Jonathan cocked his head to the side and asked, "Why so sad?"_

_ Clary closed her eyes, letting the moisture coat her cheeks. "I miss you." She opened them once again only to find him gone. Leaning her head against the cool window, she pounded her fist against the barrier that had separated them. "Come back. I need you to come back. Please. Jonathan, please." But he didn't. _

_The bloody rain continued to fall, continued to trap her in the neverending nightmare. Slowly, her vision filled with the glaring red surrounding her, leaving nothing but the aching, cold loneliness and despair inside her._

Clary bolted up in bed, her heart pounding and her body shaking. Sweat covered her, causing her pajamas to cling uncomfortably. She lowered her face to her hands, fighting back the urge to scream.

Soft rain pattered against the window, the sound making her even more on edge. She took in a shaking breath and looked over at the clock, five in the morning. With a sigh, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. She knew she'd never fall back to sleep after that. Making her way across the room, she opened the door and exited into the hallway. The house was still dark and her mother's door remained shut.

Clary crossed over to the bathroom but stopped abruptly in front of it, her eyes straying to the closed door beside it. Her heart pounded and her hands trembled. Just like in the dream, the door stood as a barrier between her and Jonathan. His room was all she had left of him and she needed to be near him right now. Needed to feel his presence, needed to know he was okay, no matter where he was.

Taking a deep breath, she walked the extra few feet and stood in front of the entrance. She stopped and reached toward the knob. Her legs trembled beneath her and her hand shook violently the closer she came to making contact. She snatched her hand back, closing it into a fist before trying again. More of the same, except this time she couldn't get within six inches of the knob without breaking into a cold sweat.

"Damn it." She pressed her forehead and palms against the cool wood, allowing the tears to fall freely. Sobs built up in her chest as she slid down the door, her body convulsing and shaking. When she reached the ground, she curled in on herself, hugging her knees to her chest and let the grief consume her, eating away at her composure bit by bit.

So engulfed in her own painful world, she didn't hear a door opening and had no clue her mother was there until she lifted Clary onto her lap. Her hand smoothed the hair away from Clary's forehead and her lips pressed into her heated skin. She rocked back and forth and whispered soothing words into Clary's ear, but all of them went unheard. The darkness was too thick and held Clary captive in its claws. She was deaf, blind, and groping inside of it. She didn't know where to go or how to escape. The waves crashed over her, pulling her further and further into the abyss. The chasm seemed to widen everyday and she knew someday it would devour her whole.

.o.O.o.

An hour later Clary found herself sitting on the cold, steel bleachers at the fields once again. The rain had stopped and only a light coating of moisture hung in the air. It clung to her face and hair, making her curls poof and frizz all around her. But she didn't care. If she couldn't be close to Jonathan by going into his room, this would have to do.

The sun peeked over the horizon, casting colorful rays through the sky and into each drop of water still clinging to the air. They sparkled in a sea of diamonds before her. She wished her mind was in the right place to appreciate the splendor surrounding her, but all she saw was that the world existed. She saw no beauty there. Only death. Only emptiness.

Nothing the world offered held any interest for her anymore. The day Jonathan ceased to exist so did her heart, her ability to see anything beyond the mocking repercussions of death. She wanted to believe it would get better, and she tried. But the more she did, the more it felt contrived and unrealistic. Nothing would bring him back, nothing. And having him back was the only way she could consider the world a good place, because without him goodness didn't exist anymore. Not for her.

Clary sighed and reached to her side, picking up her sketchbook and flipping it open. Her hand gripped the pencil tightly as the visions from her mind spilled over onto the paper. The lines connected and curved into a coherent jumble of all her thoughts and feelings. This was the way she coped. The way she expelled the demons living inside her.

She didn't know how long she sat there, emptying her emotions onto the previously blank page in front of her, before she heard the familiar pattering of a ball rolling across the grass. She looked up and spotted the boy in the black hoodie at the other end of the field. He had the hood up, covering his blond head this time, but she knew it was him because of the writing on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. She watched him stretch out and then juggle the ball for a few moments before lowering her head back to her drawing, shading and tweaking the design. She'd almost completed the last section when she heard a clang echo off from the goal in front of her.

Lifting her head, she watched the ball roll and stop at the edge of the bleachers. She set her sketchpad down next to her and stood, climbing carefully down the metal risers. When she reached the bottom, she bent over and picked up the ball, starting toward the field without looking up. She spun the ball in her hands, wondering if she could still juggle with any sort of decency. Stopping at the edge of the field, she dropped the ball to the ground, toed it onto her foot and flung it into the air, passing it from her knee, to her head, to her chest, and back to her foot.

Smiling to herself, she bent over and retrieved the ball. As she straightened up, preparing to throw it back, she froze when she realized the boy stood before her. And he wasn't at all what she expected.

"Clary?"

"Jace," she said as she studied him, feeling stupid that she hadn't recognized him before. From his build alone she should have had an inkling, but she hadn't really been paying much attention. She glanced at the ball and then back up at his face. "You play?"

"Obviously." He gestured down to his soccer shorts and cleats, then out to the ball in her hands. "Do you? You're not half bad—for a girl and Pippi Longstockings doppelganger."

She narrowed her eyes and tossed him the ball. "It's funny how in your mind that's probably a compliment." She looked at him again, her eyes running over the black hoodie, partially unzipped and revealing a black t-shirt with a design that looked like billowing smoke on the side. "You're not half bad either—for a Goldilocks impersonating asshat."

He smiled and glanced at the ground, shaking his head before meeting her eyes. "Asshat. That's a good one. Can't say I've had the privilege of being called that before. Asstard, assclown, and various other combinations including the word ass, but never asshat. Isabelle's favorite is just plain ass. She says she's into simplicity. Frankly, I see it as a lack of imagination on her part. If she just put a little effort into it she could come up with something more original." He shrugged.

Clary wanted to smile but didn't dare give him the satisfaction of knowing she found his banter amusing. "Well, then I'm glad I could give you a vocabulary lesson." She turned and started back toward the bleachers to grab her sketchbook. "Be sure to give credit where credit is due when you use it. Plagiarism is so not cool."

"I'll keep that in mind." He paused. "Hey, Pippi?"

"What?" She turned, realizing too late that she'd responded to his nickname for her.

Jace smiled a wide, genuine smile, obviously noticing the slip. "Catch."

He flicked the ball out to her and she caught it just in time with her knee, bumped it into the air and kicked it back to him. He headed it, let it fall to his chest and toed it back to her. This time she caught it with her hands, cocked her head to the side and gave him a crooked smile.

"Fine. But prepare to have your ass handed to you," she said as she shrugged off her jacket and tossed it to the ground.

He made a motion with his hands that indicated he was scared, rolled his eyes, and jogged backward, beckoning her to him by wiggling his fingers.

Clary ran after him, dropping the ball when they reached center field. She bent over, donning the stance Jonathan had taught her and the one she saw Jace do a couple days before. Looking up, she met his eyes, noticing immediately that they didn't appear flat and lifeless as they had the day she'd met him. She realized that on the field was another place he could let go of some of that mask he paraded around in most of the time. Funny how it sort of worked that way for her too, although she felt most comfortable on the bleachers sketching. But the whole place made her feel closer to Jonathan and therefore further from the dark, spiraling hole in her heart.

Jace toed the ball toward her. "You're up first."

Clary positioned the ball in front of her with her foot. "Gee, how gentlemanly of you. Maybe I was wrong about your asshatyness."

"You weren't."

Clary snorted. "At least you're honest—an endearing trait in and of itself."

"Never said I was a liar."

"Mmhmm."

Jace sighed. "Just kick the ball, Pippi."

"Touchy, touchy." She tsk-tsked him. "Fine." Nudging the ball to her left, she darted around him, crossed the ball between her feet and ran up the field. When she reached the goal box, she kicked out hard, sinking the ball right in the middle.

Thrusting her hands above her head, she jumped in the air and whooped. She twirled her hands and swiveled her hips, turning slowly around, all consumed in her victory dance. Her movements stilled as she realized he hadn't followed her and stood exactly where she'd left him at center field. She frowned, gathered the ball, and walked back to him. He stared down at her with an amused expression.

"That was—interesting," he said.

"It was damn awesome and you know it." She wanted to poke him in the chest but felt a little weird touching him, so she held back. "Now, are you going to continue to be a sissy and stand there or are we going to play?"

He turned toward her and assumed his playing stance. "You know, I was trying to be this enigma of a thing called a gentleman and give you a head start."

"Psssh. I don't need your charity, Pretty Boy. So quit with all the false kindness and show me what you've got."

Jace raised a brow and peered at her speculatively.

"What?" Clary asked. "Are you afraid I'll show you up?"

He threw his head back and laughed. "In your dreams, Pippi." Reaching out, he twisted one of her loose curls around his finger. "It's too bad you're not wearing the braids. I kinda liked them."

Clary's eyes widened fractionally before she realized what he was doing and narrowed them instead. "Just play, Goldie." She nudged the ball to him.

He smiled and shook his head once. "Whatever you say."

From that point on, Clary didn't touch the ball once. He moved down the field at a speed she'd never experienced with Jonathan. Not once did he falter or lose the ball. Each time she tried to steal it away, he'd tap it to the other foot, between his legs, fake her out, or simply kick it in front of him and sprint toward it.

After nearly forty minutes of constant movement, Clary stopped, bent over, made the universal hand signal for "time-out", and placed her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. Deciding she just needed to lie down, she flopped back on the damp grass and stared up at the now bright sky.

Jace jogged over and leaned above her, his brows raised and a sly smile on his face. "You give up? I never figured you to be the type."

Clary shook her head, her breathing still ragged. "Never. I just—need a—break."

He laughed and plopped down beside her, stretching his legs out in front of him. Screwing up his face, he glanced back at her. "Are you sure you never played for a team before? Because that was pretty good for a—"

"Yeah, yeah," she waved her hand in front of her, "for a girly Pippi Longstockings lookalike. I get it."

Jace smiled, pulled one knee up to his chest, and wrapped his arm around it, looking down at his other hand as he did.

Clary folded one arm behind her head. "The answer is no, I never played for a team. But, my brother did and I used to do—pretty much this," she gestured between herself and Jace, "with him."

"Oh." He kept his head down, but Clary noticed an immediate change in his demeanor.

She let out a slow breath and averted her gaze. "It's been a long time since I—since he—" She closed her eyes and sucked in another ragged breath, feeling the sting of tears and refusing to let them fall in front of him.

When she finally felt like they were under control, she opened her eyes and found his on her. They conveyed a level of understanding she hadn't seen from anyone before, not even her own mother. He nodded once very subtly and turned away.

"We should head back." He stood and wiped his hands over his shorts, dislodging any pieces of grass sticking to him.

"Right," Clary said, grateful he hadn't asked her anything about her reaction. She assumed Isabelle had told him about Jonathan. The way he looked at her made it clear he knew.

Jace stood over her and held out his hand to help her up. She looked at him for a moment, surprised at the gesture. Reaching up, she grasped his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. As soon as she was standing, he released her and started walking off the field toward the street. Clary hurried to the bleachers, grabbed her sketchpad, and jogged to catch up with him. They walked the entire three blocks home in silence. Surprisingly, it wasn't an uncomfortable quiet. It was actually quite peaceful.

As they neared their houses, Clary couldn't help but wonder about the boy beside her. So far, she'd seen three sides to him. Each so different from one another she wasn't sure which was the real one. Thinking about it, she realized she was the same way to everyone around her. Most people saw her in her controlled "handling it with grace" state, and truth be told, that was the very least like her. Most of the time she ached inside. Felt absolutely empty with no hope of ever being filled back up. Brief moments like this morning playing soccer made her forget, or at least let her mind be occupied by something else. But it was always there, swelling and festering until it felt nearly ready to burst.

She was pretty sure she'd seen the painful side of Jace—at least a portion of it—when she'd seen him play the piano. She recognized the pain, the loss, and the fear on his face and in his words. It wasn't fair that she'd seen that in him. That she'd witnessed something like that when she hadn't been invited. Glancing down, she decided what she would do. In order to ease her own conscience she needed to even the playing field.

Just as they stepped onto the sidewalk in front of his house, she reached out and touched his arm. "Hey."

He stopped abruptly and turned to her.

She took a deep breath and looked down, suddenly nervous with his stare on her. "The other day, when I heard you play—" She glanced up and saw his eyes darken. "I felt like maybe I wasn't supposed to hear that. Like I'd intruded on something personal, and I wanted to apologize for that. It wasn't my intention to eavesdrop. It was just so beautiful and, well, it sort of mesmerized me—" She swallowed hard. "Nevermind, I just, well, I thought maybe—" Reaching down, she flipped open her sketchbook and tore out the drawing she'd worked on that morning, folded it, and handed it to him.

He took it gently from her outstretched hand. "What is this?" He looked at her, his brows raised in confusion.

Clary shrugged. "It's sort of my version of your music." She held up the sketchbook. "This is where I get everything out and I just thought that since you showed me yours—even though it was unintentional—that it would only be fair if I showed you mine."

Jace glanced down at the paper in his hand. "Clary, I don't—"

"Just promise me you won't show it to anyone, okay? It's—I don't normally show this to anyone." She looked down and felt her cheeks heat up.

The slamming of a screen door pulled them both out of the little bubble they'd formed around themselves. Isabelle stood on the porch, her gaze shooting daggers in Jace's direction.

Jace rolled his eyes and sighed before meeting Clary's once more. "I won't show it to anyone. I promise."

Isabelle had jumped off the porch and was making her way toward them.

"Later, Pippi," Jace said as he turned and made his way toward the house.

"Later," she called to his back just as Isabelle walked past and gave him a dirty look. Clary watched as he disappeared into the house.

"What the hell was that all about?" Isabelle stood before her, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes narrowed.

"What was what about?"

"You," she pointed at Clary and then swung her finger in the direction of her house, "and _him_. What the _hell_?"

Clary raised her brows in surprise. "Nothing. We were just talking."

Isabelle shook her head violently. "No. Jace doesn't just talk, Clary. You need to stay away from him."

Clary rolled her eyes and started toward her house. "It was nothing, Isabelle. We really were just talking."

Before Clary got entirely around her, Isabelle reached out and grabbed her arm. "Listen Clary, don't screw around with Jace, okay?"

Clary jerked her arm away. "I'm not 'screwing around' with him. We were just _talking_. That's it, okay? But anyway, who are you to tell me whether or not I can talk to somebody?"

"I'm not trying—" Isabelle looked up at the sky as if she were searching for the right words. "There are some things you should probably know about him."

Clary shook her head and started walking again. "I don't care, Isabelle."

"You should, Clary."

Climbing the steps, Clary pulled out her keys and shoved one into the lock. As she pushed the door open she stepped in and turned to face Isabelle again. "Has it ever occurred to you that Jace acts the way he does because no one gives him the chance to be any different? You all just stand around and accept that he's a jerk, but you never take the time to figure out why, to listen, to watch. Maybe if you did you wouldn't feel the need to alienate him and warn everyone away from him. I'm a big girl, Isabelle. I can see he's a player; I'm not an idiot. But the thing is, he hasn't tried to put any moves on me. If he does, I can decide for myself how I want to handle that—though I doubt that'll happen." Clary raised her hands in the air and let them flap to her sides. "All of this is moot anyhow because we had one conversation. That's it. I don't know why you're freaking out about it anyway."

"You don't know him, Clary."

Anger flooded Clary's vision. She didn't know why Isabelle's words upset her so much, but maybe it was because she didn't like being told what to do. Or maybe it was because she thought it was unfair to Jace in some way. Because the truth was, he hadn't _done_ anything. Nothing at all. Either way, she wasn't going to let Isabelle get away with it. "Well, apparently neither do you," she said as she slammed the door shut in Isabelle's face, hoping that would be enough to give her that hint that Clary Fray could not be bossed around.


	4. Throwing Stones

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

* * *

_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

* * *

_**Chapter 4: Throwing Stones**_

_Chapter Song _

_Still Breathing by Mayday Parade_

* * *

Jace brushed past Isabelle ignoring her blatant glare. He knew he'd get an earful of her ranting later. Opening the door to the house, he quickly slipped off his cleats, grasped them in one hand, and bounded up the stairs, shutting himself in his room. He crossed the floor to the closet, hung up his hoodie, and placed his cleats neatly on the floor. After closing the door, he made his way to his bed and sat on the edge.

The paper Clary had given him crinkled under his fingers. For some reason he was nervous to open it, to look at whatever it was she'd created. She'd told him her sketchpad acted as a catalyst to letting her pain out—just like his music did for him. If that was true, could he handle what he was about to see? Did he want to?

From what Isabelle had told them, Clary had lost her father before she was born, but her brother had died recently. Jace had recognized the sorrow in her eyes when she'd mentioned him at the fields. He knew better than anyone what agony like that did to a person. How it consumed your soul until there was nothing there but an empty crevice, leaving you broken and void.

His fingers traced along the edge of the stiff page, slipping under the fold and smoothing over the surface. In the foreground of the drawing was a hand pressed against what looked like a window. Beyond the glass, a figure stood in the rain. Near the bottom she had scrawled, _"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,"_ over and over again in tiny, messy script. Scattered over the page were rough, diluted patches from what he could only assume were her tears.

Jace dropped the paper onto his lap, closed his eyes, and ran his hands over his face. Even though he knew the basics of what Clary had gone through, he hadn't really comprehended the amount of pain she shouldered. He should have—considering his own past. It was just that she hid it so well. She seemed so much more adjusted than he was, and his issues happened long ago.

God, he didn't know what to do with this information. Why did she share this with him? Because she'd heard him sing? Did she really see more in that than what he'd assumed? She said she "saw his" and felt like she should "show him hers." What did that mean exactly? He knew how he felt while he played, but was he really that transparent to everyone else? Or was she just overly perceptive because of her own experiences? This was the exact reason he never played in front of anyone else. He would prefer everyone thinking he was a pompous ass than to see him weak and vulnerable.

He stood and stepped over to the window. The sun filtered through the outstretched limbs of the giant oak tree that stood directly between his and Clary's houses in beams of harsh yellow light. Branches swayed in the breeze, scratching against the glass and emitting an irritating squeak. Glancing down, he spotted Clary stalking back to her house, looking upset. He furrowed his brow, wondering what had gotten her angry, until he saw a flurry of black hair rush after her. Her rolled his eyes and muttered, "Isabelle."

Isabelle getting upset over Jace "befriending" people she considered_ her_ friends was not a new development. Ever since they'd hit their teen years and Jace starting turning the heads of the girls she brought home it had been a constant nightmare for him. Not that the girls noticed him—that part he enjoyed—but that Isabelle always had a fit, forbidding him to so much as look at anyone she brought over. He guessed it probably was partially his fault—Maia hadn't flirted with and then dumped herself. He probably should have felt bad that Isabelle lost a friend over it, but he couldn't take it anymore. Maia was clingy and needy and that just wasn't his thing.

The slamming of a door and thundering footsteps coming up the stairs jerked Jace out of his thoughts. "Oh, hell."

His bedroom door banged open and Isabelle stood in the doorway, her hair wild and her eyes livid. "Jace."

Jace let out an exaggerated sigh and plopped down on his bed. "What Isabelle? What did I do now?"

"What were you doing with Clary—and don't give me the same bull she spouted about just talking, I know you better than that."

He lay back, tucking one of his arms behind his head, and stared up at the ceiling. "Well, let's see. First, I sweet talked her into coming out with me before the crack of dawn, then I seduced her into making out in every possible place between here and the soccer fields." He met her eyes. "Is that more of what you were expecting, Isabelle?"

She took a few steps into the room and placed her hands on her hips. "It certainly sounds more like something you'd do." Letting out a slow breath, she crossed her arms over her chest and glanced toward the window. "But it doesn't really sound like Clary."

"How would you know what 'sounds like Clary'? You've only known her for a few days. Maybe she would like nothing more than to do exactly what I just suggested."

"Maybe so, but there's no way in hell she's going to do it with _you_."

"Whatever, Isabelle." He propelled himself off the bed, walked over to his nightstand, and discreetly slipped Clary's drawing into the drawer. "Are you about finished lecturing me now or is this going to go on longer? If so, do you mind if I turn on some music to lighten the mood and drown out the more irritating sounds of your whining?"

Isabelle narrowed her eyes and stepped even closer, until she was only a few inches from him. "I swear to God, Jace, if you screw with her, I'm going to hurt you."

She reached up and jabbed a finger into his chest. Instinctively, he grabbed her wrist and jerked it away from his body, anger igniting immediately at the contact. His fingers tightened for a moment before he realized what he was doing and released her, almost throwing her hand away from him.

Isabelle rubbed her wrist and looked up at him with remorse. "I—I'm sorry. I forgot."

"Get out." He turned his back on her, pinched the bridge of his nose, and focused on controlling his breathing. "Now."

Isabelle wasted no time, and Jace heard her footsteps retreat from his room, closing the door softly behind her. He lifted his hand and rubbed at the spot where she'd poked him. His anger started to abate, and he opened the drawer to his nightstand, pulling Clary's drawing back out.

Glancing back up, he spotted a flurry of red bounding down the back porch of Clary's house and retreating along a path cut in the woods behind their houses. Without thinking, he tucked the paper in his pocket and turned to his door. Flinging it open and preparing to race down the stairs, he stopped just before he ran over Max.

"Jace! Look what Mom bought me." He held a new comic book up in the air, waving it less than an inch in front of Jace's face.

Jace grabbed it and looked at the cover before handing it back. "That's great, Max."

"I know!" His eyes lit up and he bounced up and down excitedly. "You wanna read it with me?"

"Yeah," Jace craned his neck toward the front door, "but later, okay?"

"Oh." Max's face fell. "Okay."

Jace sighed and placed his hand on Max's shoulder. "You know what? Let's read it now."

Max smiled and began bouncing again, jabbering away as he followed Jace into his room.

Twenty minutes later, Max was happy, Jace had changed into jeans, and was out the door. He headed toward the path, hoping Clary hadn't gone back inside. He had to know why she'd chosen him, of all people, to share this side of her. Out of everyone she could have picked in his family alone, he had to be the least sympathetic, least likable of the bunch. Yet, she _had_ chosen him. She saw something in him that enabled her to trust him with this. Trusted him with a piece of herself she shared with no one else. He couldn't wrap his mind around it. Couldn't comprehend the simple, innocent faith she possessed. Especially when it came to him. He didn't deserve to be the one.

Trees crowded the narrow path, their branches hanging low and grabbing at his shirt as he passed. The leaves created a thick canopy overhead, blocking out most of the sunlight and leaving the forest dim and moist. Just as he began to wonder how deep the trail went into the forest, he spied a break up ahead and heard the sound of rushing water. He picked up the pace and within moments, stepped into a small clearing. The thick foliage still stretched above, covering most of the blue sky, but there was a larger distance between the trees in the actual space. Cut into the earth near the center was a small, shallow brook. Tufts of thick, green grass lined the bank and a section of the massive truck from a fallen tree lay parallel to the stream.

It was there he found Clary, sitting on the log, her body curved over her lap, earbuds in her ears, and her head bobbing to the silent music. Her bright red hair, which she'd gathered into a loose knot at the nape of her neck, stood out shockingly in the drab green and brown surroundings. She hummed softly to whatever song was playing on her iPod.

He couldn't help but smile. She was by far the strangest girl he'd ever met. Not in a bad way, just—different. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't figure her out. She seemed to be totally unaffected by him—unlike most other girls he came across. In a weird way, he kind of liked that, liked that she didn't seem to care about impressing him, conquering him. He was always putting on a show, pretending to be something he wasn't. But with her he didn't need to. She would see through all that crap anyway. Somehow she saw him. The real him. The lost, troubled, broken him.

It should have made him uneasy, scared, or angry even, but it didn't. That fact scared him more than anything else. He'd shut it off, built walls, and pushed everyone away for so long he wasn't sure he had it in him to want anyone to know him again. But something had shifted the day she'd come to his door and admitted she'd heard him. Something he hadn't expected. Maybe he was ready to let someone in, to let someone know him. To strip away the mask and just be.

He shook his head, willing the thoughts away. No, he couldn't do that. Couldn't remove the armor. It was his only defense. The only way he could live, function, survive. He didn't want pity or sadness. He just wanted it gone. All of it. Every thought, every picture, every memory. He wanted to forget it all. That couldn't happen if people knew. No one would understand anyway.

No one except for maybe her.

He closed his eyes as the conflicting emotions waged war inside him. Maybe all the speculation was pointless anyway. Maybe she had no interest at all in him. Not as a friend or even an acquaintance. She could have just been being nice—or more likely still: humoring him. If he were honest, that would make this whole thing a lot easier.

Deciding that was exactly the case, he opened his eyes, stepped forward and tapped her on the shoulder. She jumped and turned, her eyes wide and her mouth opened into an "O".

Pulling the earbuds out, she said, "Jace. You scared me. What are you doing out here?"

"Do you really think it's smart to be out here alone with those things in your ears? I could have been a deranged killer or worse."

She raised one brow. "Worse? Is there actually anything worse than that?"

He ignored the question and dug in his pocket, pulling out the drawing she'd given him earlier. Holding it out to her, he said, "I thought you'd want this back." Despite really wanting to ask her all the questions tumbling through his mind, he couldn't bring himself to utter the words.

Her fingers clenched gently around the paper, brushing his in the process, and slipping it out of his hand. "Thanks." A faint blush crept up her neck and pooled in her cheeks. She glanced up at him. "You want to sit?"

Jace looked at the section of log next to her and stuck his hands in his pockets, staring out at the stream in front of them.

"I don't bite," Clary said with a smile.

"No. But Isabelle might." He cocked his head to the side. "She's warned me that she will inflict bodily harm on me if I 'screw with you.'"

She laughed. "Funny. She gave me the same warning—minus the bodily injury part—about you." Clary looked at him speculatively. "I wonder who she's trying to protect here. Me or you."

Jace sighed and made his way over to the log, sitting down at the opposite end of Clary. "Most likely you. She doesn't like me very much."

"What's not to like?"

He furrowed his brow and studied her, trying to decipher if she was messing with him or not. "A lot."

"I don't believe that. I bet there's a lot _to_ like. You just hide it well under all the douchebaggery."

He laughed. "Where do you come up with all these words? First it was asshat and now douchebaggery?"

Clary shrugged. "It's a necessary skill when you have an older bro—" Her face fell instantly. "_Had_ an older brother." Blood tinged her cheeks and she looked up at him with a sad smile. "I'm sorry."

He frowned. "Why would you be sorry for that?"

She looked down at her hands. "Because it makes most people uncomfortable when I talk about him."

"Well, I'm not most people. I thought we'd already established that—what with my asshatyness and douchebaggeryness and all. I'm assuming most people couldn't manage to pull both of those terms from your vocabulary in one day."

Clary smiled. "No. You're right. You've definitely showed the most potential for toolery of anyone I've ever met."

"Glad I could make an impression—although that's not the one I normally make on girls."

"I'm not like most girls."

He studied her for a moment. "No. You're not."

Clary averted her gaze and shifted uncomfortably.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked.

She looked up. "Sure."

"Why did you let me see your drawing? I mean, you said you never show those to anyone and you hardly know me."

Clary's stare strayed to the brook in front of her. "You know, ever since it happened . . . It's kind of been like no one understands. Like no one can really comprehend it. Not even my mom. I always kind of feel like I'm living here in this world all by myself. But when I met you guys, even though you were a total douche to me," she turned and smiled then looked away again, "some part of me sensed that you lived here too. I can't tell you what it was because I don't even know. Isabelle said something about your childhood being bad, but didn't elaborate. Then that day when I heard and saw you, I recognized it immediately. I saw the same things in you that plagued me. And somehow, it made me feel less alone, less sad." Finally, she looked up again. "That sounds stupid, I know. I guess I just figured that since you'd helped me—even though it wasn't intentional—that maybe I could help you. Even if it was just a little."

Jace's mouth fell open. He felt like he should say something, respond in some way to what she'd just spilled, but she'd rendered him completely speechless. Why she cared about helping him—someone she hardly knew—was beyond him. Even more astounding, was that in some way, he'd helped her too.

His whole life had been about surviving one day to the next. Trying to live with everything that had been dealt to him since he was too young to know any different. He'd never considered himself able to give solace to anyone—even unintentionally. He was too damaged, too empty. Anytime someone had required more than superficial emotion from him, he'd pulled away, distanced himself from them. If he was honest, he felt like doing just that in this instance as well. But he was also curious. Fascinated by the amount of understanding she displayed. Like she really could see inside him. It was unnerving and thrilling at the same time.

Normally, witty remarks came easily to him, but not this time. He couldn't think of anything to diffuse the tension between them. Truth be told, he didn't know if he wanted to. He felt comfortable with her. Even though neither of them said much of anything about what ate away at them, it was almost as if they really didn't need to. It wasn't necessary. "No, it doesn't sound stupid."

She glanced down and smiled. "Good, because I was starting to feel like a total dork." When she looked back up she asked, "So . . . friends then?"

He raised his brows. "I don't think Isabelle would be too thrilled with that."

Clary leaned closer to him and lowered her voice to a near whisper. "What Isabelle doesn't know won't hurt her." She stuck her hand out. "So, what do you say? Secret friends?"

Jace smiled and shook his head, taking her tiny hand in his. "Sure thing, Pippi. Whatever you say."

Clary furrowed her brow and opened her mouth to speak, when she was interrupted by someone calling her name.

"Fray! Where are you? I'm back, somehow managing to survive the onslaught of mother-son time."

Clary's head jerked to the direction of the voice, as a small smile tweaked her lips. When she turned back, her grin had widened. "That's Simon. My best friend. He's been away all summer."

"I should get back anyway." Jace stood. "Later, Pippi."

"Later, Goldilocks."

He started toward the path, hearing the approaching footsteps of Clary's friend. Just before he left the clearing, he turned back. "Hey."

She looked up.

A twinge of nervousness clenched in his chest as he took in her gaze. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he glanced at the ground. "Every night I play my guitar in my room. If you leave your window open, you can probably hear—if you want." He chanced a peek at her.

A wide smile stretched across her face, as she nodded.

He threw her a small grin and turned his back on her, continuing down the path toward his house and passing a nerdy dark haired boy on the way.


	5. Tremors

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

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_**Chapter 5: Tremors**_

_Chapter Songs: _

_Let It Rock by Kevin Rudolf ft. Lil' Wayne _

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"No Clary, it's X to jump not triangle. That pulls your wand out. Wait, stop! Crap, you just turned me into a rat."

Clary tossed the controller to the ground. "I don't know why you insist on bringing this stupid game over here when you know how bad I suck."

Simon leaned over and pressed the off switch on the front of the game console, the green light immediately turning red. "'Cause I normally like watching you suck, but this was just pitiful." He slouched back into the cushions of the couch, his hair a dark, messy halo around his head. "So, are you going to spill about the guy I saw leaving on the trail or what? I feel like I've been very patient by not asking you the moment I saw you, but you seem intent on remaining quiet about it." He sat up quickly, his eyes widening. "He's not your secret boyfriend, is he? I'll be very disappointed if you've chosen a mate without my beforehand approval. I get best friend vetoes in all matters involving the opposite sex."

Clary scrunched her nose and threw Simon a disgusted look. "Okay, three things. One: 'Mate?' Jesus Simon, what are we, ducks or something? Living in the dark ages? Who says 'mate' anymore? Two: When did we ever decide you get any say in who I do or don't date? And three: No, Jace is my neighbor, not my boyfriend."

Simon's brow lifted. "Neighbor? As in the same neighbor you said I would be interested in seeing?" He let out a disgusted "ugh" sound. "How many times do I have to remind you that I like girls, Clary. _Girls._ You know, non-male human beings."

Clary laughed. "Simon, you're such a spazz. I wasn't talking about Jace." She met his gaze. "He has a sister."

"Oh." Simon slumped back again. "I don't really like blondes though."

"Well, you're in luck then." Clary gathered the controller, wound the cord around it, and placed it on the coffee table. "Isabelle isn't blond."

"Really?" He stared at the wall, his brows raised in contemplation.

Clary rolled her eyes. "Come on. You want to come with me to the shop? I promised Mom I'd help her close up."

"Yeah, I guess," Simon said as he hefted himself off the couch and followed Clary to the door. "Hey, you wanna go to Pandora's tonight? It's Wednesday so 'Free Mic Night.'"

Clary groaned and snatched her bag from the counter before going to the door. "Is Eric going to try and sing again?"

"Hey!" Simon feigned a hurt expression. "Those are my boys you're talking about!"

"Simon, you quit that band last year because you were tired of having stuff thrown at your head while on stage."

"I didn't quit—I just—took an extended hiatus."

"Yeah, until they actually start practicing instead of fighting over band names."

"So…?"

Clary sighed. She hadn't been to Pandora's since Jonathan died. Before then, all three of them went frequently. Of course, it had been mostly to watch Simon's band, but after the accident, Clary hadn't gone even when Simon still played. "Yeah, I guess."

As she twisted her key into the lock, Clary noticed Alec, Jace, and Isabelle exit the house next door. Isabelle looked at her with a small grimace and started to walk over. Clary felt a slight twinge of regret at how she'd spoken to Isabelle earlier, but not for what she'd said. She believed in those words and had meant every one.

Alec jumped into the driver's seat and Jace glanced over, catching her eye for a brief moment. He was dressed in the same practice clothes as earlier and had a gray gym bag slung over his shoulder. Clary offered a miniscule smile, which he did not return but instead hopped into the passenger seat.

By then, Isabelle had cleared both lawns and stood at the bottom of Clary's stairs, her eyes seeping with apology. "Look, I'm sorry about before. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. It's just that—well, I get a little—protective . . ."

"It's all right. I'm sorry too." Clary looked back in the direction of the car. "Are they waiting for you?"

Isabelle turned her head and momentarily glanced back at Alec and Jace before meeting Clary's eye again. "Oh, yeah. We're dropping Jace at practice and then Alec and I are heading to the mall for some school clothes."

"Practice?" Clary asked.

"Yeah. Our dad spoke to the coach of the varsity soccer team. He took Jace in for a late tryout and they put him on the team."

"That's great! They need some good players." Clary's heart thumped harder with the thought that Jonathan should have been playing this year too.

Clary heard Simon clear his throat behind her. She turned abruptly and was met by his expectant face. "Oh! Sorry. Isabelle, this is my best friend Simon. Simon, Isabelle."

"Hi," Isabelle said.

Simon nodded, his eyes wide almost like if he opened them more he'd be able to take in more of her. "Hi."

It took every ounce of restraint for Clary to hold back the laughter bubbling up inside her. Simon seemed to sense her predicament and jabbed her discreetly in the back with a long finger. "Hey, Simon and I were just talking about going to the local club tonight. They're having an open mic night." Clary let her eyes flit to the running car and then back to Isabelle. "You guys wanna come? If anything, it's fun to laugh at all the tone deaf people."

Isabelle laughed. "Yeah, that sounds fun. I'll ask the guys. What time?"

Clary turned to Simon.

"Oh." He closed his mouth, which had apparently been hanging open the entire time. "Um, eight?"

"Okay." Isabelle smiled. "Meet you there?"

"Sure," Clary said.

"Great!" Isabelle whirled around, her hair fluttering behind her. "Later!"

Isabelle climbed into the back seat behind Alec and waved as they backed out of the driveway. Clary waved back and stared after the retreating vehicle.

Simon leaned over, his mouth close to her ear as he said, "Now there's a neighbor I approve of."

Clary frowned, slapped him on the arm, and spun in the direction of the street. "Come on, Romeo. Let's go help my mom."

"Ow!" He rubbed his shoulder. "When did you become so violent? That really hurt."

Clary rolled her eyes and stomped up the block, leaving a scowling Simon trailing behind her.

.o.O.o.

The tiny bell dinged as Clary and Simon stepped through the door of Jocelyn's shop. Before her mom had made a name for herself as an artist, the shop had started as an art supply store. Shelves upon shelves of sketchbooks, brushes, paint, pencils, markers, and canvas lined the walls and the floor on the left side of the building. On the right side, was Jocelyn's studio, where she painted commissioned portraits and landscapes, and where she taught classes several nights a week. Clary had promised to help her mother close up the shop and get ready for that nights class: watercoloring.

"Mom! I'm here," she called as she and Simon walked down a narrow aisle toward the back of the studio.

"I'll be right out, honey!" Jocelyn called from the back room.

Clary and Simon walked over to the counter, grabbed the easels Jocelyn had set out, and arranged them in a semi-circle surrounding the permanent one always situated there. Just as they picked up the sheets of watercolor paper, Jocelyn came out.

"Simon!" she said and raised her hands in his direction.

He smiled and rushed over to envelop her in a giant hug.

"My, my, have you grown? I swear you're at least . . . three inches taller."

Clary rolled her eyes. "Mom, don't encourage him."

Jocelyn laughed and patted Simon on the cheek before grabbing the rest of the supplies and distributing them to each work station.

"So, Simon, how was your trip?"

Simon rolled his eyes. "Peachy. Traveling to Oklahoma—the highlight of my entire existence."

Jocelyn turned to him, her eyes wide with curiosity. "Well, you must have seen something interesting."

"Cows." He straightened the supplies on one of the easels. "I saw lots of cows. Brown ones, black ones, black and white ones." He stopped and looked off into space. "Once I even thought I saw a purple one, but my mom said it was just the sun's glare. I still think it was purple." He went back to his work.

Clary snickered.

"What?" Simon looked at her. "I'm serious. I did one of those quadruple takes. Not even joking in the least. I had the worst kink in my neck for the rest of the day."

Clary doubled over, unable to hold in the laughter any longer.

Simon scowled. "You know, that's really not funny. Those hurt a lot. How would you like it if you had to look at everything like this?" He held his head slightly to the side and turned the entire top half of his body to look in each direction.

Tears dripped down Clary's cheeks as she tried to catch her breath. She bent at the waist and placed her hands on her knees as she sucked in deep breaths, which only managed to make her laugh louder. When she let out a loud snort, Simon doubled over next to her, along with Jocelyn. It had been so long since she'd laughed like that. The feel was almost foreign to her now, but it felt so good.

Wiping the moisture from her cheeks, she stood and sighed. "It's good to have you back, Lewis."

Simon studied her, his eyes still shining but the smile gone from his face. "You too, Fray."

Clary glanced at the ground, knowing what he meant. She'd not been herself since the accident. He understood and he'd been nothing but supportive. But she hadn't been a very good friend to him during that time. She made a vow to herself to make up for that now. Now that she'd figured out how to mask the pain enough to at least look like she was living normally.

"So," Jocelyn walked back to the other side of the counter, locked the cash register, and closed out the credit card machine. "What are you to doing tonight? Are you going to just stay in and watch movies or something?"

"Actually, we talked about going to Pandora's. They're doing the open mic night again. Eric's probably singing and we can't pass up the opportunity to laugh at that."

Jocelyn frowned. "Clary, you know I don't really like you guys going there without an adult. There are creepy people out there and they use places like that to prey on unsuspecting teenagers."

Clary turned to Simon and rolled her eyes. He gave her a crooked grin before she addressed Jocelyn again. "We're going with the Lightwood's. Alec is eighteen."

Jocelyn furrowed her brows and blew an errant red curl out of her face. "The Lightwoods?"

"Yeah, Mom. Remember, you met Isabelle the other day?" Clary paused taking in Jocelyn's still confused face. "Our new neighbors?" she said in that "obviously" tone.

"Oh. Oh, right." Jocelyn waved her hands in the air. "Wait. Isabelle has a brother?"

"Three actually."

"Three?" Jocelyn stopped what she was doing.

"Yes, Mom." Clary let irritation slip into her voice. "I told you all about them the night they moved in. Don't you remember?"

"I guess not." She scratched her head with the end of a paintbrush.

Clary sighed. "There's four kids. Isabelle—who you met—is my age. Alec, who's eighteen and in college. Jace is seventeen, a senior, and is going to be playing on the soccer team this year. And Max is nine and going in the fourth grade."

"Wow. That's a handful and the oldest three are so close together! I need to meet this woman who managed to have three children in the span of three years!"

"Well, actually, Jace is adopted—well, almost."

Jocelyn raised a brow.

"He's a foster right now, but they're working on adopting him." Clary didn't know why she was telling her mother all this. It just seemed like once she started talking she couldn't shut up.

"And they're all nice—good kids?"

Clary shrugged. "Sure. They seem like it."

Simon snorted. "Yeah, especially when you sneak around in the forest with one of them."

Clary glared at him.

"What?" Jocelyn's gaze flickered between the two of them.

"Nothing. And I wasn't sneaking around. I just ran into him, that's all."

"Wait, _him_? You were in the woods with a _boy_?"

Clary let out an angry huff and vowed to make Simon pay for spilling such an unnecessary detail in front of her mother. He knew how protective Jocelyn was when it came to boys other than him. "No, Mother. I was not in the woods with a boy. I was out there by _myself _and he came out there by_ himself_. We talked for a couple minutes and that was it. No need to freak out. Geez, I've been best friends with a boy my whole life, I would think you wouldn't have this reaction every time a boy talked to me. God, you're as bad as Jon—" She sucked in a sharp breath and closed her eyes. The moment his name almost crossed her lips she felt her chest clench. When she opened her eyes again, her mother's face was pinched in a pained expression. "I'm sorry," Clary whispered.

Jocelyn opened her arms and pulled Clary into her embrace. "Don't be sorry, Sweetheart." She sighed. "It's fine with me if you go. Just be careful, okay?"

Clary nodded into her mother's chest just as the bell over the door dinged again. She pulled away and turned to see Luke, the owner of the book store next to her mother's shop, walk through the door carrying a large and heavy looking box. Jocelyn rushed forward to help him.

"Oh! The books came?" She cleared a space on the counter and he dropped the box onto it.

"Yep." He turned to Clary and smiled, his glasses slipping down his nose. "Hi Clary, Simon."

"Hey Luke." Clary smiled at him and then turned to Jocelyn. "Do you need any more help? I told Isabelle we'd meet them at the club at eight and it's already seven. I'd like to go change out of these dirty clothes."

"No, I think I'm good." Jocelyn offered her a small smile before walking over and hugging her once more. With a kiss to Clary's head, Jocelyn said, "Love you. Stay safe."

"I will." She untangled herself from her mother and turned to Simon. "Come on, Lewis. Time to change out of these grubby clothes."

"Speak for yourself. I like what I'm wearing."

Clary glanced down at his holey jeans, dirty chucks, and charcoal colored t-shirt that read _I has a t-shirt._ She raised her brows and headed toward the door. "Whatever." Without turning around, she tossed her hand up in the air. "Bye, Mom. Bye, Luke."

"Bye," they both answered.

She and Simon exited out onto the street, the sun bleeding into the sky at the horizon, and the tiny bell above the door tinkling behind them.

.o.O.o.

An hour later, Clary and Simon stood at the bar trying to catch the bartender's attention and get a couple of sodas. Clary leaned over it, her feet no longer touching the floor as she peered down the counter. A DJ still occupied the stage as the open mic session didn't start until eight thirty. Colored lights twirled amidst the swaying bodies on the dance floor.

Simon danced awkwardly next to Clary as she waved her hand in the air, her brows raised. She plopped down on the ground with a huff. "It's no use, he's ignoring me."

Simon screwed his mouth to the side and looked in the direction of the bartender. "So, I have enough time to visit the little boy's room then, right?"

Clary raised one brow. "Little boy's room? Seriously. You did not just call it that."

"What? What's wrong with that?"

Clary blinked a few times and shook her head. "Nothing. Yes, Simon, by all means, go use 'the little boy's room.'" She rolled her eyes.

Simon stuck his tongue out at her and bounded off toward the bathroom.

Clary laughed to herself and turned to try to flag the bartender down again.

"Hey, Clary," a male voice spoke very close to her.

She whipped her head in its direction and found herself face-to-face someone she really didn't care to see. "Oh, hey, Raphael."

He grinned, his too white smile taking up half his tanned face. His dark eyes sized her up from under a chunk of black hair and he leaned in closer. "So, are you going to save me a dance or two tonight?"

Instinctively, she shied away from him, catching the bartender's attention in the process. "Um, I don't think so." She turned to the man in front of her. "A Cherry Pepsi and a Sprite please."

He nodded and grabbed two glasses, filling them with ice and soda. Clary paid for them and brought the Sprite to her lips.

Raphael inched closer. "Come on. It's just you and Lewis. That means you have no one to dance with." He smiled. "I don't bite."

She rolled her eyes. "No, thank you." Turning back to the bar, she held up her finger to signal a refill. The bartender returned and filled her glass as she slipped the bill to him.

She tried scooting even further from Raphael, but he didn't take the hint and just angled himself closer, his sickening smile stretching even wider. "Please? Just one dance then. I'll be satisfied with that."

Clary was just about to tell him how he could satisfy himself, when she felt an arm slip around her waist.

"Hey, baby, sorry I'm late."

Nearly dropping her drink, she turned toward the voice and found Jace standing at her side, his eyes trained on Raphael, who looked back with disdain.

"Oh, hey," she said as her eyes flickered between the two boys. They were a study in contrasts. Jace was fair, tall, and dressed completely in black, whereas Raphael was dark, shorter, and wore a white button up, with the top half left open.

"Is he bothering you?" Jace asked, his voice low and slightly scary.

Raphael narrowed his eyes and stood his ground, not moving an inch from Clary as if he were claiming her as his.

"Um, no." Not knowing what else to do she tucked her arm around Jace's waist and shoved against him. "Let's go."

Jace glared at Raphael for another moment before allowing Clary to move him.

After they were a few feet away from the bar, Clary leaned into him and said, "Baby?"

Jace shrugged. "He looked unintelligent enough to not get a subtle hint." He looked down at her. "I thought calling you a pet name might help. What? You have a problem with 'baby?' Should I have called you Pippi instead? Somehow, I don't think that would have given the right impression."

"No." Her cheeks heated almost instantly. "And you're right. He's been pestering me since last year. He just won't take no for an answer."

"Maybe you're not giving him the right signals."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you calling me a tease?"

He glanced at her and raised his brows. "Are you a tease, Pippi?"

She scowled. "No."

"Hmm," Jace said as he peered over his shoulder. "He definitely doesn't take a hint."

Clary looked back and groaned as she caught Raphael's stare. His eyes followed them as they moved away.

Jace grinned. "Well, let's convince him then, shall we?" He removed his arm from her waist and stood in front of her.

"Of what?"

"That you're not available."

"But I am available." Her cheeks burned again at the admission. She'd never been more thankful for the dark interior of the club as she was at that moment.

He rolled his eyes. "But not for him."

"Oh, right."

He held out his hand. "What do you say?"

She eyed his outstretched palm, her brain momentarily leaving the building. "What do I say to what?"

Shaking his head, he lifted his chin in the direction of the surrounding dancers.

Clary's eyes widened. "Oh." She looked down at her feet. "Um, I don't really know how."

"You don't know how to dance?"

She looked up and scowled. "No. I know how to dance. I've just never danced with anyone else before." Her eyes surveyed the couples around them, their arms wrapped around each other and their hips swinging to the pounding music. "Not like that."

"Well," he lifted her arm and placed it around his neck, "it's a good thing I'm an excellent teacher." Grabbing the hand that still hung at her side, he flung it up next to the other.

Clary met his eyes, sure her own were huge and bugging out of her skull at that point. "What about Isabelle? If she sees this, she'll be convinced we're messing with each other. And then she'll yell at us again."

Jace bent down until their faces were only inches apart. "Are you afraid of Isabelle?" He shook his head when Clary nodded. "She's harmless, and at the moment, completely occupied." He glanced toward the door where Isabelle leaned against a table, laughing with a large muscle-bound guy, her finger twirling a piece of his long, dark hair.

Clary glanced back at Jace once more, let out a slow breath, and nodded once. "Okay, let's do this."

He smiled. "Follow my lead—and hold on."

She raised her brows and tightened her grip around his neck as his hands cupped her hips, pulling her flush against him. An involuntary gasp escaped her throat.

"You all right?" he asked, his mouth very close to her ear.

She nodded, unable to find her voice as he started moving, their bodies swaying together just like the other couples around them. Never before had a boy touched her like that. She'd never even had one, besides Simon and her brother, hold her hand. Her skin tingled at every point his body pressed into hers. It was a strange, though not unpleasant sensation.

Paying close attention to his movements, Clary tried her hardest to match him. He was good. Really good. She rolled her eyes at the thought of how many girls he'd had to dance with to get that way. "So, do you do this often?"

"What? Dance?"

"That and rescue girls from creepy flirts at the bar."

"No. Usually I'm the one flirting with all the girls at the bar." He smiled. "Though not nearly so desperately. In fact, I don't think I've ever had to ask more than once. Or even at all in some cases."

Clary snorted. "You really are an ass, aren't you?"

"Never said I wasn't."

She shook her head and peered over his shoulder. Raphael still glared at them from the bar, and a gaggle of girls looked on, elbowing each other and pointing in their direction. Clary frowned, wondering what had them so interested. She watched as one of the girls made a lewd gesture and bit her lip, her eyes raking up and down. Turning her attention away from them, she spotted another group of girls doing the same things. Suddenly, it dawned on her that they were checking out Jace. Of course they were. He was new, he was cute—okay, he was more than cute, but he was just—Jace. She was slightly disgusted at their lustful looks.

Without thinking about what she was doing, she tightened her grip around him, stretching one of her hands up and splaying her fingers across the back of his neck while pressing herself closer to him. She felt him stiffen slightly against her and then wrap his arms around her back, holding her tightly.

Her eyes fell to Raphael just as he slammed his glass to the bar and stalked off toward the door. She smiled as he grabbed his jacket off a nearby chair and disappeared outside.

"I think it worked."

"What?" Jace asked.

"Raphael. He left. I think it worked."

"Oh," he pulled back and looked behind him. Turning back to Clary, his mouth lifted in a crooked smirk.

"Thanks," Clary said, meeting his eyes and realizing at that moment that she still had her arms wrapped around him. Stepping back awkwardly, she let her hands fall from his neck.

He looked as though he wanted to say something but then his gaze flickered to the space behind her. She turned and saw Simon, his eyes wide and mouth slack.

"Does he always have that look on his face?"

"What?" Clary turned back to Jace.

Jace pointed at Simon. "Your friend. He had the same bug-eyed stare when I saw him on the trail." He paused. "Wait. He doesn't like boys does he? Hell."

Clary laughed. "No!"

"Oh. Good, because I didn't want to have to deal with that again."

Clary raised a brow. "Again?"

He leaned forward. "Always so curious." Cocking his head to the side and narrowing his eyes, he studied her. "Maybe I'll tell you about it sometime." He glanced behind her again. "But, I think if I don't leave now the nerd-patrol back there may just self-combust—though that might be fun to see."

Clary scowled.

Jace smiled. "Later, Pippi." He turned and disappeared into the swarm of gyrating bodies.

"What the hell was that all about?"

Clary whirled around, almost bumping Simon's chest with her nose. "What was what all about?"

Simon's eyes widened. "What was—You—Him—The bodies smooshed together and hands all—ugh." A disgusted shiver shook his body.

She laughed and grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the bar. "Come on. I'll explain while you flood your brain with caffeine."


	6. High Tide

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

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_**Chapter 6: High Tide**_

_Chapter Songs:_

_Creep by Radiohead (Eric's band) __*Lyrics to Creep are owned by Radiohead_

_Tik Tok__by Kesha (Izzy and Clary) __**Lyrics to Tik Tok are owned by Ke$ha_

_Storm by Lifehouse (Jace) ***lyrics to Storm are owned by Lifehouse_

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After suffering through a less than mediocre rendition of Britney Spears' _Circus_—a song which equated to scratching nails down a chalk board, but then again, most of Britney's songs sounded that way to Clary—she and Simon relaxed against the bar, nursing more sodas as they watched Eric's band set up on the stage.

"Raphael is such a douche," Simon said. "I can't believe he's still trying to get with you after everything."

Clary sat on the stool nearest her and let out a long sigh. "Well, maybe he'll leave me alone now."

Simon looked down at his hands, his glasses slipping halfway down his nose. "Why didn't you just ask me? You know I would have danced with you."

"Raphael knows we're just friends. He'd never have bought it. Plus, I didn't ask Jace to do anything. It was his idea."

Simon glanced up and eyed her carefully before turning his gaze away.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"Don't 'nothing' me. What?"

"You just seemed very . . . cozy with him."

Clary snorted. "Come on, Simon. We were just dancing. It was all a show anyway." She let her eyes wander until they fell upon Jace sitting at the opposite end of the bar, a girl flanking each side of him. "See." She pointed to the two tall girls flashing their lipstick smeared smiles at him as he grinned back at them. "It's clear I'm not even his type. He was just taking pity on my Raphael situation—which I'm grateful for by the way. That guy gives me the creeps."

Simon met her eyes. "The real question here is, is he _your_ type?"

Clary opened her mouth to avidly deny Simon's question, when Isabelle bounded up to them.

"There you are! I've been looking for you." She tugged at the bottom of her jacket and smoothed her hands along her sequined black jeans.

Simon's eyes brightened almost immediately.

"We've just been here." Clary prayed Simon wouldn't mention her dancing stint in front of Isabelle. For whatever reason, she still felt slightly scared that Isabelle would get angry with her again. "Who was the guy you were talking to?"

Isabelle's eyes widened. "Oh, I know, wasn't he hot?" She sighed. "His name is Meliorn. He's a college guy. Someone Alec knows."

"Where is Alec?" Clary asked.

Isabelle pointed to an area of tables just beyond where Jace sat at the bar. Clary saw Alec huddled in a corner booth with a strange looking guy in a bright fuchsia blazer and tight black pants. "Who's that he's with?"

"Some guy he met at orientation. Maggie—Mags—Magnus," she snapped her fingers and pointed, "that's it."

Clary must have looked confused because Isabelle leaned forward and said, "Alec is gay."

"Oh," Clary said. "Well, that's cool that he met someone already. Magnus looks—interesting."

Isabelle laughed. "No doubt."

The first strums of a guitar sliced through the air. Simon groaned and placed his forehead in his palm. "Oh God, please do not tell me they're playing this."

Clary snickered as Isabelle jumped up and clapped her hands together once. "Ooh, I love this song!"

"You won't once you hear Eric sing it," Simon mumbled.

"Come on, let's get closer," Isabelle said.

Clary held up a finger. "Just a minute. I'm waiting on a refill."

Isabelle grabbed Simon's arm and yanked. "Well, it's just you and me, Simon. Let's go." She turned and dragged him toward the dance floor.

Simon looked back at Clary, mouthed the word, "Yes!" and gave her a fist pump before facing forward once more.

She couldn't help but laugh, as the bartender plunked her drink down and the first lines of Eric's song sliced through the air.

*_When you were here before, couldn't look you in the eye_

_You're just like an angel, your skin makes me cry_

"If I have to listen to much more of this, I'm going to cry."

Clary startled just as she took the first sip of her drink and the stinging liquid drew up into her nose. She coughed and her eyes filled with tears. Fanning her hand in front of her face, she glanced to her side. Jace leaned against the bar beside her, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"God, Jace. I'm going to put a bell on you or something so you can't keep sneaking up on me like that."

"Where's the fun in that? Besides, I like taking you by surprise. You get this wide-eyed scared-little-kitten look. It's cute."

"Well, is it also cute when Sprite projectiles out of my nose? Because that's just about what happened."

"You can do that? Now that's something I just have to see." He leaned back on the bar and grabbed her glass, handing it to her. "Here, take another drink and I'll scare you again."

"Shut up." She laughed and shoved his hand away, sloshing the soda all over his fingers. "Oops!" She reached behind her, snatched a few paper napkins, and took the glass from him, setting it on the bar and grabbing his hand to wipe the sticky soda off. "Sorry."

Glancing up, she met his eyes. He stared down at her, his face fixed into an expression she couldn't read. She stood there for a moment before she realized she still held his hand in hers. Dropping it suddenly, she cleared her throat and turned toward the stage.

_But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo._

_What the hell am I doin' here? I don't belong here._

Eric's voiced grated over Clary's nerves, his tone all over the place and his pubescent voice squeaking where the song begged for roughness. Clary grimaced and Jace laughed.

"You know, you could get up there and save all of our ears from bleeding to death," she said.

"Oh no. I don't play in front of people."

She sort of figured this after witnessing his playing first hand, but she couldn't help wondering why. "Why not? You're so good." She looked up at him. "You're going to play in front of me."

He glanced down at her, his gaze boring into hers.

_Whatever makes you happy. Whatever you want._

"You're different."

_You're so very special. I wish I was special._

_But I'm a creep; I'm a weirdo._

Clary opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Isabelle appeared in front of them. She studied them with scrutiny. "What's going on, guys?"

Jace's expression morphed into his usual blank slate. "Well, Clary here was trying desperately not to snort her drink, while I discussed the musical merits of the band performing."

Isabelle's eyes flickered to Clary's. Clary smiled and nodded. Isabelle visibly loosened up and grabbed Clary's arm, pulling her onto the dance floor. "Come on then! Quit wasting your time listening to him blather and let's dance!"

Clary glanced back at Jace. He shook his head and grinned, shoving his hands in his pockets and following behind them.

Isabelle stopped once they reached Simon. He turned and gave her a small smirk before his gaze landed on Jace and his smile slowly disappeared. After flashing Clary a scowl, he turned back to the front just in time for Eric's last line.

_I don't belong here. I don't belong here._

As the music faded away, Isabelle whipped around, her eyes flashing. "Watch this." She removed her jacket, revealing a tiny black camisole type top underneath. Throwing it to Simon, she dashed to the stage and climbed up. Resounding hoots and cat-calls flitted around the room. Isabelle walked to the computerized machine, typed in her song choice, and grabbed two microphones. She turned to face the audience and raised a brow in Clary's direction.

Clary gasped as Isabelle nodded and pointed at her, curling her finger in a beckoning motion. Clary shook her head and absently backed up, bumping right into Jace. His hands raised and grasped her upper arms.

"Come on, Pippi." His voice sounded right next to her ear. "Show us what you've got." He shoved her forward.

She turned around and frowned at the cocky smirk he gave her. Narrowing her eyes, she said, "Fine—but someday, you need to return the favor. Show and tell, remember?"

He raised his brows. She raised hers in return and reached down to unzip her yellow hoodie, revealing the black tank top she wore underneath. Pulling it off, she threw it at Jace. He caught it just before it hit him in the face. Shaking his head, he smirked. Clary reached up and pulled the clip out of her hair, letting the long red curls flow down her back. Before losing her nerve, she whipped around and made her way through the crowd, letting two guys in the front lift her by the arms onto the stage.

Isabelle smiled as she handed Clary the second mic. She nodded her head toward the screen. "Do you know it, or do you need a lyrics sheet?"

Clary glanced at the monitor, relieved to see a song she knew. "No, I know it." She grinned.

Isabelle nodded. "Let's give these boys a show."

Clary returned the gesture, trying not to focus on the swarm staring up at them.

"Don't be nervous," Isabelle whispered. "I'll start."

"Okay."

The lights twirled above them as Isabelle belted out the beginning lyrics.

_**Wake up in the morning feeling like P Diddy_

_Put my glasses on, I'm out the door - I'm gonna hit this city_

A loud cheer went through the crowd as she put every ounce of attitude she had into the words and her movements on the stage. Clary couldn't help but smile and dance with her. It was easy to get into it, and was surprisingly more fun than she thought it would be. She didn't feel stupid at all.

Isabelle nodded at Clary and she raised the microphone to her lips, singing the lyrics along with Isabelle.

Both girls laughed and Clary allowed her eyes to wander to the crowd. Simon's nearly bulged out of his head in amazement—most likely more due to Isabelle than Clary, but the sight almost made Clary crack up again. Then her gaze landed on Jace. He stood just behind Simon, his eyes trained on her as he shook his head and tried biting back a grin. She scrunched her nose and continued with Isabelle on the chorus.

The crowd jumped and swayed with them, singing along and cheering them on. Clary had participated in open mic night before but had never received such an enthusiastic response. It had to be Isabelle. Her charisma was infectious.

After another round of the chorus, Isabelle pointed to Clary indicating it was her turn to sing. Clary's eyes widened, but Isabelle just nodded her head. Clary swallowed hard and lifted the mic to her mouth once more.

Simon jumped around in the crowd below, apparently unable to sustain a cool appearance for even a few minutes. Jace maintained his stance the entire time, still watching carefully.

Clary looked at Isabelle, leaned in and said, _Police shut us down._

Isabelle grinned and countered, _Po-po shut us-._

They jumped up and swiveled their hips when they landed, starting another round of the chorus. The crowd grew louder and louder. Clary was so involved with the performance she barely noticed them swarming the glanced down once more, noticing Alec and his friend Magnus standing with Jace behind an obliviously dancing Simon. Jace leaned over and said something to Alec whose eyes widened with a look of awe etched over his face. Magnus fixed his stare on Simon, furrowing his brows in what almost looked like disgust.

Isabelle belted out the next section.

Clary sang back.

Isabelle answered.

Clary smiled. _With my hands up._

Isabelle closed her eyes and lifted her free arm in the air. _Put your hands up._

Clary mimicked Isabelle's movements and watched as the crowd did the same. _Put your hands up._

The music died temporarily as Isabelle called out, _No, the party don't start 'til I walk in._

With a laugh, Clary and Isabelle ground their hips to the returning beat and sang the chorus through twice more. As the music ended, the crowd erupted around them. Clary giggled and tried to catch her breath as she clasped hands with Isabelle and bowed at the roaring horde. Isabelle straightened up, licked her thumb, and pressed it to her behind, making a hissing sound to the resounding rise of male hooting. She threw her arm around Clary's shoulders and lifted the other in a fist into the air.

Isabelle jumped from the stage into the waiting arms of a few overly anxious teenage boys. Clary, not being nearly as ambitious, climbed slowly from the platform, her face heating with the realization of what she'd just done. She wasn't one to normally "showcase" herself like that, and although it certainly felt freeing, she couldn't help feeling a bit of embarrassment as well.

Simon bounded up to her, his eyes huge and glasses askew. "Oh my God, that was freaking awesome!"

Clary smiled in response. Although she felt slightly uncomfortable now that it was over, she had to admit, it had been pretty freaking awesome. After a few more songs, her heart rate finally started to slow and the adrenaline rush subsided. Tiredness flooded her limbs, making any more dancing nearly impossible. Turning toward the tables, she spotted Jace sitting at one near the back. She started toward him, wondering how he could be there alone, when she'd noticed every unattached girl in the place eyeing him up.

As she approached, he glanced up, meeting her gaze.

She pointed to the seat across from him. "Do you mind if I sit?"

He leaned back in his chair, shook his head, and gestured to the seat she'd indicated. His eyes stayed on her as she plopped down.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the crowd of dancers. Normally, Clary felt uncomfortable with silence, but as always with Jace, she didn't. They didn't need to make unnecessary small talk with each other. For some reason, his presence was enough. What was it about him that made her feel that way? Even with Simon, her best friend for practically all her life, she felt the need to fill the silence. It was a strange feeling.

The back door to the club opened, allowing a frigid breeze to blow through the seating area. Clary shivered and rubbed her goosebump covered arms. Jace reached behind him and grabbed her yellow hoodie from the back of his chair, handing it over the table without a word.

Clary glanced up before reaching out to take it from him. "Thanks."

Jace nodded once and looked back to the dance floor. He seemed different than earlier. Slightly standoffish, quiet. Not at all jokey and flirty like before. She wondered if something had happened to initiate that change in him.

At that moment, Isabelle appeared at the table and dropped into the chair between Jace and Clary. "God, I'm beat."

"Me too," Clary said, her eyes unconsciously moving to Jace. He remained silent.

"Hey," Isabelle leaned forward, "you want to stay over tonight? We could do stupid girly things like paint our nails and braid each other's hair."

That comment elicited a soft chuckle from Jace.

Isabelle glared at him. "And no, _you're_ not invited."

Finally, his gaze strayed from the dancers and met Isabelle's for a split second as he shrugged. Then his eyes fell on Clary, and she could have sworn his mouth lifted in a barely discernable half grin before he turned back to the crowd. Her stomach did a weird fluttery flipping thing and her face heated instantly. _What was that all about?_

Shaking the strange sensation off, she returned her full attention to Isabelle. "Um, sure. If my Mom says it's okay."

Isabelle dug into her pocket and pulled out a glittery cell phone. "Call and see."

Clary took the phone from her and dialed. Before her mother answered, Clary snuck a peek at Jace again. He still watched the crowd, but now there was definitely a smirk on his lips. She wondered what he was grinning about.

.o.O.o.

After an hour and a half of girl-talk, nail painting, and hair braiding, Isabelle had conked out. But Clary lay there staring up at the ceiling. She glanced over at the bright red numbers glaring out at her from the clock on the night table. Two thirty-seven. With a sigh, she carefully climbed out of the bed, trying her hardest not to wake Isabelle. She crossed the room on tip-toes and twisted the knob slowly to prevent a squeak.

The hall was dark as she stepped into it and made her way to the bathroom. After closing the door, she walked over to the sink, turned on the water, and stuck her mouth under the tap, drinking enough of the cool liquid to quench her thirst. When she stood straight once more, she caught her reflection in the mirror. She looked terrible. Black circles had begun to form and her normally bright green eyes looked dull and lifeless. She knew she needed to sleep, and she certainly was tired. But, she was afraid to fall asleep there. What if she had one of those nightmares and woke up shaking and crying like usual? She hadn't thought about that when Isabelle had asked her to stay over.

Taking a deep breath, she splashed some cold water of her face, dried it on a nearby towel, and loosened her hair from the braids, letting it flow over her shoulders. As she exited back into the hall, she noticed a sliver of light coming from under Jace's door and the soft strumming of a guitar. Even though she knew she should just go back to Isabelle's room, she couldn't stop her feet from pulling her closer. The music grew louder as she moved and finally stood right outside his door. She placed her hand on the wood, and leaned her head against it as his voice quietly drifted out.

_***How long have I been in this storm?_

_So overwhelmed by the ocean's shapeless form._

_Water's getting harder to tread,_

_With these waves crashing over my head._

Clary closed her eyes and released a slow breath as she let his voice and the words wash over her. Even though the meaning was so incredibly sad, just like the first time she heard him, she felt calmer.

_If I could just see you, everything would be all right_

_If I'd see you, this darkness would turn to light_

Clary's knees trembled and she allowed herself to slide down the wall next to his door. With her eyes still shut, she allowed his pain to wrap around her like a blanket, enveloping her inside it while at the same time releasing her from her own torment.

_And I . . . will walk on water_

_And you . . . will catch me if I fall_

_And I . . . will get lost into your eyes_

_And everything will be all right_

_And everything will be all right_

A single tear fell down her cheek as a small smile spread over her lips. She knew she should get up, should go back to Isabelle's room and try to go to sleep. But she couldn't move. Couldn't leave the anesthetic affect his music had on her. Just a little longer, she thought to herself. Just a little longer and she'd go back. Back to where the numbness faded and the piercing pain returned.

Clary leaned her head back against the wall, her body relaxing to the tenor of Jace's voice and the skill of his playing. Her head lulled to the side, and her hand dropped to the soft carpet. She felt herself drifting, and thought again that she should get up, but at that point, she just didn't care. Slowly, her mind closed to every thought, every sensation. Even the music faded, note by note, swirling down into the darkness of her unconscious. The very last thought, the last sensation she had was Jace's voice softly singing words she hoped more than anything could be true. Not just for her, but for him too.

_And everything will be all right. And know everything is all right. Everything's all right._

.o.O.o.

Jace closed his eyes and hung his head as the last note lingered in the air. His heart pounded in his chest. He focused on breathing—in, out, in, out—trying to calm the demons crawling to the surface. Just once, he wished, he could have a night where he could fall asleep and stay that way. But most nights he awoke to memories he'd long since tried to forget. Memories, that if he allowed them to re-emerge, felt as though they'd gut him completely.

He wondered if they'd ever leave him. If he'd ever feel normal—whatever that was. Running a hand over his face, he let out a slow breath. He stood and placed his guitar back in its case, snapping the clasps shut and propping it back up in the corner. Glancing at the clock near his bed, he sighed. Two fifty-three. If he didn't get some sleep he'd never be rested enough for his first morning practice with the team.

Crossing his room to the door, he cracked it open quietly, nearly stumbling over something in front of it.

"What the—" he said to himself just as he looked down, spotting exactly what it was he'd almost tripped over.

Clary's body sat propped against the wall next to his door, leaning halfway into the center of the frame, her arm lying across the threshold. Jace stepped over her and squatted down in front of her. Her head lulled to the side, her chin resting on her shoulder. A barely wet line trailed down her cheek and a small smile touched her lips. Her breathing was deep and regular.

"Clary," he whispered, trying to rouse her without scaring her—though he did find that amusing.

She gave no response.

He reached out and shook her shoulder lightly. "Clary." He tried once more.

She let out a sigh and mumbled. "Ten more minutes, Mom . . ."

Jace stifled a laugh and studied her for a few moments. Noting the creamy complexion of her skin, which contained not a single imperfection except for the smattering of light freckles across her nose. Though, he wouldn't call those imperfections per se. Too many freckles were sort of distracting, but these were nothing, and even added to the cuteness factor.

Her untamable hair framed her face, its bright color a contrast to her pale cheeks. Her lips still held a smile. Part of him wanted to leave her there, just so he didn't have to disrupt what looked to be a pretty peaceful sleep. But he couldn't in good conscience do that, knowing how stiff she'd be in the morning. Unfortunately, he also couldn't wake her, effectively removing the serene look from her face.

After deliberating for a few moments, he moved to her side, looked for the best way to do this, and slipped his arms under her legs and behind her back. As carefully as he could, he lifted her tiny body to him. She felt as light as she looked. It was almost as if he were carrying nothing.

When he stood, she wrapped her arms around his neck, sighed, and snuggled her face into him. For a moment, he couldn't move, could barely breathe. It was the same feeling he'd had at the club when they'd danced and she'd pulled him tighter to her. He'd danced with more girls than he could count, but had always kept them at a distance, never allowing them to get to close and certainly never holding them the way he had her. It was almost like a reflex. She tightened her hold and so had he.

In truth, it had sort of freaked him out. He didn't want to give Clary the wrong idea and have Isabelle hate him again over hurting one of her friends. If he was smart, he'd stay away from her like Isabelle asked. That was really the only way to ensure she didn't mistake his intentions. But he didn't think he could. He liked how he felt around her. Liked how she dulled the ache inside him—he didn't even know how she did it, he just knew she did.

With the sleeping girl cradled in his arms, he walked to Isabelle's room, pushed open the door slowly with his foot and walked in. Isabelle lay on the opposite side of her queen sized bed, soft snores emanating from her unconscious form. He bit back a snicker as to not wake Clary. Though he did wish he had his video camera. He owed Isabelle for the few—slightly more embarrassing predicaments she had taped him in. Someday, he'd return the favor. But not tonight. Not with Clary sleeping in her bed.

As he reached the edge, he leaned over, placing her softly on the mattress and slipping his arms out from underneath her. Just as he tried to pull back, Clary tightened her grip.

"Jace," she said and he stilled, thinking she had awoke, but her eyes remained shut. "So beautiful . . ." she mumbled.

His eyes widened as he reached behind his neck and gently pried her hands from him, placing them at her sides before covering her with the large down comforter.

"Play some more," she muttered again.

He pulled back, not able to help the grin spreading over his lips. She'd heard him play. And for the second time, the thought pleased him.

"Tomorrow," he whispered, sure she couldn't hear him.

Her brow furrowed, and her mouth turned down into a pout. Again, he bit back a chuckle as his eyes fell on a couple of wayward curls stretched across her cheek. He had the strange urge to move them away, not liking how they obstructed the view of her face. Tentatively, he reached down and slipped his fingers under the rogue locks, brushing them across her forehead. He lingered at her temple for a little longer than he normally would. Her face relaxed and she let out a small sigh.

Feeling slightly pervish being in his sister's room and practically ogling the girl next door, he turned away and headed back to the door. He stepped out and pulled against the handle. Just before it shut completely, he glanced back up, stealing one more look at the mystifying girl. Her smile had returned.

"Night, Pippi," he whispered as he pulled the door shut, the latch clicking in place behind him.


	7. Ripples

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

* * *

_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

* * *

_**Chapter 7: Ripples**_

_Chapter Songs_

_Attack by 30 Seconds to Mars (Scene 1)_

_Naked by Avril Lavigne (Scene 2)_

* * *

"Wayland!"

Jace's head snapped up at the sound of his name being called. Coach Daley caught his eye and motioned him forward. Jace stood, adjusted his socks over his shin guards, and jogged over.

Coach caught his eye and slapped a hand on his shoulder. Jace winced at the contact but forced himself not to pull away. "Center forward. Offense first. Show 'em what you've got, kid." He tossed Jace an orange mesh practice jersey.

Jace promptly pulled it over his head, layering it on top of his white t-shirt, and ran out to take his spot at the center line. He toed the ball in front of him, looked to the left forward, gave a short nod, and waited for the coach's whistle.

He concentrated on loosening the muscles in his upper body, breathing deep and steady while focusing his gaze on the goal. Nothing else mattered except the direction the spongy grass beneath his cleated feet grew, the force and course of the wind as it blew across the field, and the proximity of his teammates to himself. All of these things added up into how easily the ball would move across the surface, how hard he needed to kick, and how much effort he'd have to put into getting it where he wanted it to go.

He watched the second string players in front of him. How they shifted and which foot they favored. Did they tend to lunge to the right or the left? How well protected was the goal? Did the defensive line tend to play the front half of the field, or did they hang back and hug the goal box? Would he best them with pure speed, or would it take a bit more footwork? Either way, he was sure he could handle it. If he wanted to start, he knew he'd have to prove himself, not only to the coaching staff but also to his teammates. Being the new guy, especially coming in during his senior year and being favored as a starting forward, didn't win him any brownie points with the other guys. Those spots were earned, not given. And he was sure one of the guys out there at that moment had coveted the spot given to him. Someone none of them had played with before. Someone they didn't trust.

"Verlac!"

Jace turned toward Coach Daley's voice, catching movement behind him. Shifting his gaze, he watched as a tall, dark-haired boy that had occupied a midfield spot behind him hurried over to the coach.

The boy stopped just in front of the portly, whistle-bound man. "Yeah Coach?"

The coach reached down, pulled a blue practice jersey from the duffle bag at his feet, and threw it at the boy. "Switch teams, Sebastian. Since you're going to be my second for center forward, I want you to head off against Wayland."

Sebastian ripped the orange jersey over his head and replaced it with the blue one before making his way back out to the field and taking his position opposite Jace. He caught Jace's eyes and narrowed his. _Great._ Jace thought to himself. So, this was the guy who felt entitled to the position.

Jace leaned forward over the ball, his arms hanging loose, and his breathing even. In his periphery, he saw the other two forwards, donning the same stance. The familiar rush surged through his veins as the whistle shrilled in the distance. At the sound, he plunged ahead, nudging the ball toward the left forward. Sprinting up the field a few feet, he whipped around, his eye on the ball at all times. He watched as his teammate passed back to midfield, and then up to the right forward who brought it up the sideline.

Sebastian sidled up next to Jace, making sure his side pressed into him at all times. Jace shoved back against him, careful not to raise his elbows or use his shoulder. Finally, he pivoted to his left and lost Sebastian long enough to intercept a pass. With the ball safely in his possession, he turned and dribbled up the field, swerving between the opposing midfielders and defenders. He and the left forward passed the ball back and forth until they were right on top of the goal. Jace lined himself up to take the shot and waited for his teammate to pass the ball back. Just as it left the other forward's foot, Sebastian shoved into Jace's chest hard with his shoulder and lifted his elbow, clipping Jace in the eye. Unable to stop himself, he fell back onto the grass with a thud, pain radiating through his cheekbone and right eye.

He lifted his hand to his face as a whistle blew and the coach started yelling. When Jace removed his palm from his throbbing eye, he saw Sebastian standing just in front of him, his hands in the air and a look on his face that clearly demonstrated he thought he'd done nothing wrong. Coach kept up his tirade and turned his back, stomping toward the outdoor restrooms.

Sebastian turned back to Jace and towered over him with a smug grin. "Welcome to the team." He bent over, picked up the ball, and began walking toward the center line once more.

Jace narrowed his eyes and kicked out, sweeping his leg under Sebastian's feet, causing him to pitch backward, lose the ball, and land on his back with a grunt. Jace hopped to his feet, picked up the ball, and leaned over Sebastian, giving him a cocky grin of his own while wiping the sweat from his brow. "Thanks." He tossed the ball up in the air before dropping it to the ground and kicking it toward center field. Sharp pain shot into his skull from the place where Sebastian's elbow impacted his face, but he felt slightly vindicated from the look Sebastian gave as he fell.

As he lined up at the center once more, he caught the eye of his left forward. He gave Jace a thumbs up and a small smile, while mouthing the word, "nice." Jace nodded and turned back just in time to watch Sebastian take his position across from him.

"You're going to pay for that, Wayland."

Jace grinned. "Bring it on, asshat."

Sebastian gave him a questioning look just as the whistle blew once more, snapping Jace's mind back into the game, and away from the random thought floating through his mind of the intriguing redhead with the ability to make up the best insulting names he'd ever heard.

.o.O.o.

After managing to score three goals and make five assists, Jace felt practice went pretty well. He'd proven himself as an able forward, and it seemed most of his teammates were beginning to accept him in the position. They passed readily to him and accepted his as well. The only one who seemed to show any animosity toward him at the end of the day was Sebastian. Not that he blamed him. He'd probably be pissed himself if some seemingly pretentious pretty boy had come in a stolen the spot he'd been working for. Jace might have felt bad if he'd cared in the least about things like other people's feelings. But he didn't and he wasn't apologizing for it. The fact of the matter was, he was a damn good player. He worked just as hard as any of these guys—probably harder than some of them—and even though he was new to this team, he wasn't new to working his ass off at being the best he could. For that, he wasn't sorry.

Coach blew the last whistle of practice, calling everyone over and distributing uniforms to the newest players. Just as Jace gathered his ball and slung his duffle bag over his shoulder, Coach called to him again. He turned and made his way over.

"Nice work today, Wayland."

Jace mumbled a barely coherent "Thank you," before meeting Sebastian's glare.

Coach Daley's gaze followed Jace's and he let out a slow sigh. "Don't worry about Verlac. He'll come around. He was best friends with Fray, so his reluctance to play with another center is understandable."

Jace's head snapped up at the mention of the familiar name. "What?"

Coach's eyes widened. "Oh. I forgot you might not know." He reached up and scratched at the balding spot near the back of his head. "One of our players, Jonathan Fray-Morgenstern, died in an accident last Spring. He was set to play starting center this year."

Jace felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach. Jonathan. Clary's brother. Jace was playing Jonathan's spot. He'd known Jonathan played but he hadn't known his position. What would Clary say when she found out? Would it upset her? Furthermore, why the hell did he care so much? It wasn't like him to consider other's feelings in things like this. He'd worked for this and deserved it just as much as the next guy. But even if that was true, he couldn't stop the anxious feeling building in his chest over how Clary would react. As much as he tried to deny it, he didn't want to be the cause of any more pain to her. Didn't want to be a reminder of what she'd lost—not in any way. But even so, what could he do? It wasn't like he could just tell the coach he didn't want to play the position, because he did. He really did.

"Oh." Jace looked down at the white and black jersey in his hand. His eyes drew directly to the patch stitched on the upper left portion of the front. The red number eleven stood out amongst the nearly white top. He knew what it meant. He'd seen teams wear the number of a fallen teammate on their uniforms before as a memorial.

With a multitude of thoughts assaulting his mind, Jace set out for home. He couldn't help feeling troubled over what this might mean to Clary. How it would affect her. She seemed so strong all the time, but he knew better. How could he not? It only took something small, something others would see as insignificant, to cause every wall to come crashing down. He hated the thought that he might be the one to cause that to happen.

As he walked along, he came to a small park next to the cemetery. He'd never understood why anyone in their right mind would place a child's playground next to something as morbid and scary as a cemetery, but it seemed to be commonplace in towns like this. He glanced up as he passed the merry-go-round and monkey bars, spying someone swaying lightly on one of the swings. Squinting into the sunlight, he realized he knew that red hair.

Clary sat with her back to him, her body facing the direction of the cemetery. Her hand clutched the chain and her head leaned against it. Her feet dangled in front of her with only her toes touching the dirt below. She looked so small sitting there.

Slowly, Jace made his way forward, wondering why she sat there in this place all alone. When he reached the swing set, he dropped his bag on the ground between Clary and himself, startling her as he plopped into the swing next to her, facing the opposite direction.

"What's going on, Pippi?" he asked, peering out in the direction of the fields he'd just left.

"Nothing," she said, her voice small and quiet.

He glanced at her, taking in her slumped posture and the fact that her eyes stared straight out in front of her.

"Hmm," he said, never taking his eyes from her.

Finally, she turned to look at him. As she did, her brows pinched together and without warning, she lifted her hand to his face. "What happ—"

Instinctively, Jace flinched back, his own hand coming up and grabbing her wrist.

Clary's eyes grew wide and Jace realized what he'd done.

"Sorry." He dropped her wrist and stared at the ground in front of him. Chancing a glance up, he realized she was still looking at him in a sort of panicked state. He took a deep breath. "I don't really like to be touched."

Clary's brows furrowed in confusion. "But, the other night . . ."

Jace nodded. He knew she was thinking about the club and the fact that he'd danced with her and let her touch his hand. "If I anticipate or initiate it, it's okay. It's just when I'm surprised . . ."

"Oh." She looked down at her hands for a moment then raised her gaze to him once more. "What happened," she lifted her hand and pointed, "to your eye?"

"Some idiot at practice." He wrapped his hands around the chains and grinned.

Clary gave him a small, sad smile and glanced at his bag lying between them. She reached down and grasped the jersey he'd dropped on top when he'd sat.

He followed her movements, watching as she lifted it in her tiny hands, her fingers brushing over the number eleven patch on the front as she swallowed against the tears he saw forming in her eyes.

"This is my brother's number," she said so quietly he wasn't even sure he was supposed to hear.

"I know."

"He was going to start this year, you know? Center forward." She glanced up, the tears still brimming but not falling.

He nodded, not sure what he was supposed to say, so instead he grimaced and looked away from her.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he said. "It's just—I'm starting." He closed his eyes briefly before meeting hers once more. "Center forward."

He held his breath as he waited for her reaction, really hoping she didn't cry.

She studied him for a moment, no doubt taking in his nervous expression.

"Really?" she whispered.

Unable to speak, he nodded.

Slowly, a smile crept over her lips, and the tears she'd held back flowed over her cheeks. "That's good. I'm glad."

"It doesn't bother you?" He was skeptical seeing as there were tears visible.

She shook her head. "There's no one else I'd rather see play there than you. You're really good."

Without thinking, he reached out and gently brushed his thumb over her cheek, wiping the wet trails away. Clary gasped, and he froze, realizing he was touching her, and immediately withdrew his hand. Her face flared and she bit her lip. He looked away and cleared his throat.

"So, what are you doing out here by yourself?" he asked, trying to erase the awkwardness lingering between them.

"I'm not by myself."

He looked up, and she smirked.

He rolled his eyes. "Before, smartass."

She giggled and turned her gaze away, her smile fading slowly. "I come here a lot."

"Why?"

"Because I really want to go visit my brother." She lifted her chin toward the cemetery. Jace turned and followed her direction. "But I can never seem to get past these swings."

Jace sighed. "Sometimes it just takes a while."

Clary glanced at him, her expression confused.

He met her eyes, answering the question she didn't vocalize. "My Mom."

"Oh." The wind picked up, blowing a strand of red hair across her face. "Was it a long time ago?"

Jace nodded, wanting badly to reach over and move the curl away. "I was five when she died. But it took me a long time to go to her grave."

Clary's gaze fell to the ground and she fiddled with the zipper on her hoodie. "Does it ever get any easier?"

"I wouldn't say easier. But you learn to deal with it better."

"I just want it to stop hurting so much," she whispered.

Jace closed his eyes briefly, wishing he could tell her something that would help, but all he could say was, "I know."

Clary glanced back over at him and sucked in a sharp breath. "God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to dump that on you." Her face turned red.

"It's all right. I don't mind."

"Jace?"

"Yeah?" He met her eyes.

She fidgeted in the swing for a moment and drew her bottom lip between her teeth once more. "Can I touch you?"

He raised his brows in response.

"I mean," she stammered, "I—I just want to check out your eye. That's all."

He chuckled at her protests. "Yeah, okay."

Clary drew her swing closer to him, biting her lip again as she reached out. She cupped his cheeks in her tiny hands and brought her face closer to his, her brows furrowing as she swiped her thumb under his sore eye.

"Ow." He laughed.

She grimaced and sucked in a breath through her teeth. "Sorry."

He couldn't help studying her as she lingered so close. His gaze raked over her face, taking in every tiny freckle, the deep green of her eyes, and the soft pink of her pouty lips. Her touch remained soft on his face as she examined him. He liked the feel of her skin on his, the warmth that radiated from her and soaked into him, and the fact that she was near enough that he could feel her breath flowing over his cheeks.

"This is going to bruise." She padded her fingers against the flesh under his eye. "It's already swelling."

Glancing up, she locked eyes with him.

In that moment, it was almost as if he was stuck there by some unseen force. He knew he should look away—he wanted to, but he couldn't. Her gaze held him there, a prisoner in her green depths. He heard her breath hitch and watched as her eyes lowered to his mouth. That was all he needed to break the trance he seemed to be caught in. He pulled back, her hands falling from his face.

"I should go." He stood from the swing and bent to grab his bag, hoisting it over his shoulder.

"Right." Clary stood after him, reaching for the backpack he'd failed to notice propped up against the swing set pole. "I should too."

If he didn't know better, he could have sworn her voice shook as she spoke.

They walked home together, neither speaking. Jace normally liked silence, but the awkwardness that hung between them made it almost unbearable. The last thing he wanted was for things to be weird. People picked up on that kind of stuff and he did not need Isabelle thinking something was going on when there wasn't.

"Listen, Clary—"

She stopped and glanced up at him. "Do you want to separate now?"

He furrowed his brow, confused. "What?"

"Should we walk the rest of the way home separately? You know, so Isabelle doesn't see us together and think something's going on with us."

It took him a moment to comprehend what she was saying. Relief washed over him in the realization that she didn't read anything into the weirdness that had just happened. "What—oh, no. She's not home. Shopping again. So we're cool."

"Okay, good." She smiled up at him.

When they reached their front yards, Clary turned to him quickly. "Oh! I almost forgot." She dropped the backpack off one shoulder and swung it around front. Unzipping it and plunging her hand inside, she said, "I have something for you." She pulled out her sketchpad and removed a sheet from inside, handing it to him.

He glanced down at the drawing. She'd sketched the scene of a stormy sea, waves crashing against the jagged rocks of an overhanging cliff. Thick gray clouds rolled overhead, covering the entire sky, except for one tiny brake in which a beam of light stretched down, illuminating a tiny portion of the sandy beach below.

He opened his mouth to ask why she was giving him this, but she cut him off, her face flushing. "I heard you play last night." She shrugged. "I owed you."

"I know you did." He caught her eye and smiled.

Her brow creased. "How did you know?"

"Well, it was kind of hard to miss when I almost face planted it after nearly tripping over you in front of my door."

She groaned. "I'm sorry."

"I told you you could listen."

"I know, but I didn't mean to fall asleep." She reached up and scratched her head, looking down at the ground. "I still don't know how I ended up back in Izzy's bed. Maybe I sleep walk now."

"Yeah, maybe." Jace grinned and turned toward his house. "See ya later."

"Yeah, okay. See ya."

Jace reached his porch before he turned back to her. "Hey, Pippi."

She looked up. "Yeah?"

"You should eat more. You barely weigh anything."

Confusion settled in lines over her forehead, until realization hit and her eyes widened, her mouth forming into a perfect O.

Jace chuckled and turned his back, leaving her gaping after him in the yard. "Later." He opened the door, letting the screen slam behind him.


	8. Waves

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

* * *

_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

* * *

_**Chapter 8: Waves**_

_Chapter Songs:_

_Move Along by All-American Rejects_

_Down by Jason Walker (from the assembly on)_

* * *

Clary stood in front of the full-length mirror that hung on the inside of her closet door, turning from side to side and taking in her appearance. She pursed her lips as her eyes ran over the dark, tight fitting jeans, t-shirt, and chucks. With a sigh, she pulled her black hoodie off a hanger and slipped her arms through the sleeves. Her hands shook slightly as she tried to close the zipper.

The sun shone dully through the sheer curtains, bathing the room in a soft purple glow. Her clock read seven-thirty in the morning and she knew it was almost time to go. Closing her eyes, Clary took in a few deep breaths, reminding herself that it was just school. She'd been going all her life. She could handle this. But the truth was, she didn't know if she could.

After the accident, she hadn't returned to school. It had been through sheer desperation that she'd convinced Jocelyn to let her homeschool for the remainder of the year. She just couldn't force herself to walk those halls, to endure the pitying looks and questions her classmates were bound to give her. She didn't want to be "the girl whose brother died." Or, "the girl who barely survived that awful crash." She just wanted to be Clary Fray-Morgenstern again. Just Clary. No more stares. No more whispers. No more wordless sympathy. Just Clary. Resident geek and art freak.

How she wished she could return to those days of endless teasing over her nerd status. Even that was better than this. And she'd hated every moment of it at the time.

A soft knock sounded at her door before it opened slowly. Clary turned and caught sight of her mother standing in the doorway, twisting her hands together nervously.

Clary frowned. "Mom, what's wrong?"

"I just got a call from the school." Jocelyn kept her eyes on the floor. "They're having an assembly today to welcome everyone back to school."

"Okay," Clary said, not understanding the significance behind her mother's reaction to this news. "I realize assemblies incite utter boredom, but you don't have to be there so . . ."

Jocelyn finally met Clary's eyes. "They wanted to let me know that they'd be honoring Jonathan today."

Clary swallowed. Hard.

"They asked if I'd like to come because they'll be retiring his number and hanging his jersey as a memorial."

Clary stumbled toward the bed and sat, her breathing coming more shallow than normal. Jocelyn made her way over and placed her hand on Clary's back.

"Are you okay?"

Clary nodded, trying to regulate her breathing. She knew sooner or later the school would do something like this. When the accident happened, the whole community had been in such shock, and had tried so hard to be sensitive to Clary and her mother, that they hadn't really done much by way of memorializing Jonathan. She knew that this was an honor, that it was their way of expressing how much he'd meant to them and that they missed him too. But it didn't help Clary in any way to get past what happened. To see his jersey hanging there day after day during gym class would probably be more than she could bear.

"Are you going to come?" Clary asked in a quiet voice.

"Yes. I mean, if you're okay with it, I'd like to come."

"I'm okay with it." Clary paused and looked up, meeting her mother's eye. "How do you do it, Mom?"

"How do I do what?"

"Live with it. Keep going every day. How are you so strong?"

Jocelyn lifted her hand to cup Clary's cheek and let out a slow breath. "I'm not strong, Clary. There are days where I feel so broken and lost and confused that I just want to lie down in bed and never get up again. And there are days where I almost do just that. Where I almost give up and give in to the pain. But then I remember that I can't. I can't because I know that you need me. I know that I need to be there for you. And I also know that that's not what Jonathan would want. He wouldn't want us to stay sad, to stop living. He was always so happy, so full of life." She paused. "I feel like it's soiling his memory to give up. So I don't."

Clary placed her hand over her mother's. "You are strong. I wish I could do it. I want to do it."

"You will, sweetheart. It'll just take time. For both of us."

Closing her eyes, Clary nodded once more. She opened them at the sound of the doorbell.

"That'd be Simon," she said as she rose from the bed and grabbed her backpack from the floor.

Jocelyn eyed her carefully. "Are you going to be all right?"

Clary gave her a small smile that she knew came off looking forced. "I have to be."

.o.O.o.

Dust. Some kind of overcooked meat. Dry erase markers. Lemon scented cleanser.

The same exact smells that always permeated the halls of Maple Ridge High hung thick and heavy in the air. The scents mingled together, forming a perfume all their own. Ode de education. At least that's what Jonathan always used to call it.

Clary kept her head down as she meandered her way through the condensed hallway, trying her hardest to avoid the eyes burning into her. She hadn't seen many of her classmates since the accident. It was no secret that she'd withdrawn into herself and hid away in the safe confines of her room. Other than Simon and her mother, she let no one in. No one penetrated her sanctuary. Not that she'd had many real friends to begin with. Acquaintances sure. People she talked to and liked even, but no one she would have felt comfortable enough with to talk to about the way she felt. Even Simon and her mother were oblivious to what really rumbled underneath the surface of her carefully crafted façade. She'd never let anyone see the blackness living inside her, not even in the tiniest bit. Not until recently.

"So, what's your guess?" Simon sniffed the air, his brows pinched together. "I'm saying turkey surprise. No wait—" He paused with his finger held up then shook his head and waved his hand in the air. "Never mind, I'm sticking with turkey surprise."

Clary glanced at the paper she held in her hands once more before making her way over to locker number forty-five. "I don't know, Simon. It always smells the same to me."

Simon leaned against the locker next to Clary's, crossed his arms over his chest, and rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. You're telling me you think Mexican pizza smells the same as chicken and dumplings?"

"In this place?" She pulled a notebook and pen out of her bag, before shoving it into the cramped space along with her jacket. "Yes. I don't even think it's real food." She slammed the door shut and rested against it. "Which is why I always bring my own lunch."

Simon started to reply just as Isabelle bound up to them. "Hey guys!" She slung her bag over one shoulder, careful not to trap her long black hair underneath.

"Hey," Clary said with a smile, noticing Jace behind Isabelle. He didn't glance up as he passed.

Clary frowned as she followed him with her eyes. He hadn't spoken to her since the day at the park over a week ago. Granted she'd been busy helping her mother with a few new classes she'd added to the store's schedule, and he'd had practice nearly every day. But even when she had seen him, he'd made no effort to talk to her. Of course, she had been with Isabelle every time she'd been within ten feet of him. That was the deal they'd made and she understood that. Even so, a part of her missed their conversations. Missed how, for whatever reason, she felt better when she was around him.

At least he'd stuck to his word that she could listen to him play at night. Every evening she slid her window open and waited for him. He never disappointed, opening his and letting the music close the distance between their houses. In the dark recesses of the night, she'd lay there allowing his pain to wrap around her, releasing hers at the same time. And then each day, when she went to visit Isabelle, she'd slip a drawing under his door. Give and take. That's what they did, and for now, it was almost enough.

"Which homeroom do you have?" Isabelle asked.

Clary dragged her gaze away from Jace's retreating form and glanced down at her schedule. "Um, Mrs. Cook. Room 120."

"Me too!" Isabelle said before turning to Simon. "What about you?"

"Mr. Bannister. Room 145." Simon frowned. "Now, I won't be able to sit by you at the assembly."

Clary's chest clenched.

"What assembly?" Isabelle pulled a licorice twist from her backpack and chewed on it innocently. Simon's eyes locked on her lips wrapped around the Twizzler.

Clary rolled her eyes at his blatant display and turned to Isabelle. "Every year we have a 'Welcome back' assembly during homeroom. It's totally boring."

"Hmm," Isabelle said. "But it's a good chance to scope out the local man-fare—if you know what I mean." She winked.

Clary snorted. "Yeah, well, slim pickings."

Simon scowled.

Clary stuck her tongue out and started to move toward homeroom with Isabelle.

"Clary!" She heard a male voice call out from behind her.

Turning slowly, her eyes fell on the dark hair and eyes of her brother's best friend. "Oh, hey, Sebastian."

He jogged up to her, nodding in Isabelle's and Simon's direction. Simon rolled his eyes and waved at Clary, letting her know he was leaving. She waved back.

Isabelle raised her brow, bit her lip, and winked in Clary's direction before leaving herself. "I'll save you a seat."

Clary smiled and nodded. "Okay."

"Who's that?" Sebastian asked, his eyes following Isabelle down the hall.

"My new neighbor, Isabelle."

Sebastian turned back to her. "No joke? In the Penhallow's old house?"

"Uh huh."

"So," he glanced down at the ground, shuffling his feet, "how have you been? I haven't seen you in forever."

"I'm okay. You?"

He looked up, meeting her eye. She could see the sadness glinting in them. "Same here."

Clary reached out and laid her hand on his shoulder, giving him a small smile. At that moment, Sebastian's eyes flickered over her shoulder and narrowed. She turned and met Jace's golden gaze. He passed them, his stare fixed on Sebastian's before moving to hers momentarily and then disappearing just as quickly as he walked into the room right next to hers.

"Whoa," she said, "what's that all about?"

Sebastian shook his head. "New player on the team. Total asswad."

Clary laughed and started walking toward her homeroom. "Oh come on. He's not that bad."

"You know him?"

She nodded. "He's Isabelle's brother."

Sebastian stopped her. "You're telling me he's your neighbor too?"

"Duh. I just said Isabelle was my neighbor and he's her brother so . . ."

The one minute warning bell blared over head.

Clary glanced up absently in the sound's direction. "I better go. It was nice talking to you, Sebastian."

"Hey, Clary, wait."

She stopped and turned back to him.

He looked at his feet and she could have sworn she saw his cheeks grow pink. "Are you going to the Welcome Back dance on Friday?"

Clary shrugged, watching as the last of the students hurried down the hall to their perspective rooms. "Maybe. I don't know."

"You should come," he said quietly.

Her eyes met his. "Okay, maybe I will."

He smiled. "Save me a dance, okay?"

"Sure." She grinned and moved toward her homeroom once more. "See you, later."

"Bye, Clary." He stuck his hands in his pockets and slunk down the hall.

Clary made it into her classroom just as the final bell rang, and plopped down in the seat beside Isabelle.

"So?" Isabelle whipped around and sat side-ways in her seat. "Spill."

"Spill what?" Clary set her notebook and pen on her desk.

"What do you think? Who was the hottie?"

"What hottie?"

"Oh my God. The one you were just talking to! Tall, dark, delicious."

Clary furrowed her brow. "You mean Sebastian?" She thought about him and guessed he was kinda cute. "Delicious? Really?"

Isabelle's eyes widened and her jaw fell slack. "Don't tell me you've never noticed. That boy sizzles."

Clary shrugged. "He's—" She swallowed against the pain in her chest. "He was my brother's best friend."

Isabelle's face fell. "Oh."

"He's nice. He plays on the soccer team too." She remembered the look he and Jace shared. "In fact, he totally gave your brother the death glare in the hallway."

"Sebastian." Isabelle frowned as if she were thinking something over. "Sebastian. Wait. What's his last name?"

"Verlac."

"Well that explains the look."

"What do you mean?" Clary asked just as Mrs. Cook began roll call and explained how they would make their way to the auditorium for the assembly. As they lined up Clary nudged Isabelle. "So?"

"Remember that black eye Jace was sporting?"

Clary thought back to the day at the park when she'd examined his eye after practice. How he'd been so close and how intense his eyes looked as she'd stared into them. She shook herself out of the memory and addressed Isabelle, trying to act nonchalant. "I guess."

"Well apparently, this guy, Verlac, elbowed him during practice. And according to Jace, it wasn't an accident."

"What? Why?"

Isabelle shrugged. "Boys are idiots."

"Hmm," Clary said as she followed the classmate in front of her into the gym. She'd known Sebastian almost as long as she'd known Simon. He'd never shown any type of violent tendencies before. Why would he hit Jace on purpose? Knowing Jace, he'd probably mouthed off or something equally Jace-like. But still, Clary couldn't see Sebastian doing that.

As Clary stepped into the gym, her eyes drew immediately to the temporary platform at the other side. A large projection screen and table had been set up. Three chairs sat off to one side, and occupying them were the principal, the vice-principal, and her mother. Clary swallowed hard as she and Isabelle took their seats at the end of the second to bottom bleacher.

Looking around, Clary spotted Simon at the other end of the auditorium. He waved frantically, a huge grin plastered on his face. She lifted her hand back to him and turned around, locking eyes almost immediately with Jace who sat two rows behind them, directly on the end with his leg dangling off the side. She let her gaze linger for a moment in greeting as his mouth quirked up into a barely discernable half-grin. Smiling in return, she whipped back around.

"What are you grinning at?" Isabelle quirked her brow.

"Nothing." Clary bit her lip as Principal Aldertree stood at the pulpit.

"Welcome back, students." He cleared his throat. "Before we begin I'd like to—"

Clary blocked him out and let her gaze wander around the gym, taking in the faces of old and new students. People she'd known since she started school and ones she'd never seen before in her life. Their faces conveyed a certain carefree demeanor she wished she possessed. At one time, she was sure she had. Sure that if someone like her had been paying attention then, they would have noticed the same attributes in her. She wondered what people saw now. Did they see the devastation? The darkness? The guilt?

As her eyes shifted to the front, they fell on her mother. She sat there, looking slightly lost and nervous. In her hands, she held a bundle of white fabric which her fingers picked at anxiously. Clary squinted against the glare of the bright florescent lights overhead, trying to make out what her mother had in her lap. Finally, it dawned on her. _They'll be retiring his number and hanging his jersey as a memorial. _Her mother's words reiterated through her mind. The object in her mother's hand was a jersey. Jonathan's jersey.

Clary let out a gasp and her chest clenched, squeezing her heart in its grasp.

". . . our flourishing sports program . . ." Principal Aldertree's voice rang out over the loud speakers, but Clary couldn't hear a word over the rushing in her ears.

Her heart sped in her chest, pounding against her ribs as her breathing shallowed. The lights dimmed and a flash of white appeared on the projector screen. Footage from last year's sports reels flashed across the background. A touchdown scored. Roaring crowd. A three point shot, all net. Cheers. A hurdle perfectly cleared. A goal scored. A flash of blond hair, dark eyes, and an insanely white smile. An arm tossed over his shoulder, his fist thrust in the air.

Clary closed her eyes against the images depicted on the stage only to be assaulted by the ones in her mind. The same bright smile directed at her. A laugh filled with so much joy rang out. The loud click of the seatbelt echoed as he leaned over her, his voice muffled. The roaring of the engine as excitement raced through her. A sudden downpour pounded on the roof and windshield. One last look. One last grin. A scream. A crunch. Blackness.

She leaned over, her breathing coming rapidly as she covered her ears with her hands, trying to block out the screams and the sound of screeching metal. The onslaught in her mind took over and covered everything outside of her. A hand touched her shoulder and a worried voice hissed in her ear. "Clary, are you all right?"

She wanted to answer, but her body trembled so hard she couldn't form the words. Her head spun due to the lack of oxygen from her frantic, shallow breaths. The pounding of her heart increased, only exasperating the breathing problem. She stumbled to her feet, clawing her way past Isabelle, who grabbed her arm before she tumbled off the bleachers.

"Clary, what are you doing?"

"A—air," was all she managed to get out.

Isabelle stood with her, holding onto her arm as they lowered themselves from the risers. The pain and panicked breaths got worse when she stood. Clary's legs trembled and blackness tinged the edges of her vision as nausea rose in her stomach. She dug her fingers into Isabelle's arms trying to remain vertical.

"Jesus, Clary, what's going on?" Isabelle rasped in her ear.

Clary shook her head, the gasps for air making it nearly impossible to form a coherent word. "I—I—do—don't—kn—know."

"Isabelle, what's wrong?" Jace's voice sounded from behind her.

"I don't know." Isabelle's grip tightened around Clary's waist. "She just started shaking and breathing weird. Then she said she needed air. I don't know what to do!"

Just then, Clary's knees buckled underneath her. Isabelle just managed to catch her before she fell to the ground.

"We need to get her out of here," Jace said.

Clary felt her body being swooped up and rushed out of the gymnasium doors. She had no idea what was going on around her, where she was going, or even who she was with at that point. All she knew was that she couldn't breathe and she really needed to breathe. Finally, she felt herself being lowered to the ground, her back against something hard and cold. Large, warm hands cupped her cheeks.

"Clary?" The hands against her face were gentle, soothing. "Clary. Listen to me. Focus on my voice. Can you do that?" Jace asked.

She sucked in what little air she could and nodded her head, her eyes still clenched tightly.

"Okay. Good." His thumbs moved over her cheeks, tracing small circles into her skin. "Have you ever had a panic attack before?"

A panic attack? Was that was this was? She thought for sure she was having a heart attack or some other equally death-inducing episode. She shook her head.

He continued touching her: her face, her hair. Lightly, so soft that if she weren't so focused on it she may not have felt it. Her breathing slowed infinitesimally. Just like when he sang, his voice soothed her, his presence calmed her.

"Isabelle's waiting by the doors. Let me get her for—"

Clary's eyes popped open and she reached out, twisting her fists into his shirt. "N—no! Pl—please—don't—g—go." She leaned forward and buried her face into him.

In any other circumstance, she would never have been so forward, but at this point all acts of normalcy flew right out the window. She needed someone. He was there and whatever he was doing was working.

"Okay, Clary. If it helps, I'll stay."

She nodded against him, feeling his pulse thrumming against her cheek.

Little by little, her breathing slowed as did her heart. The aching pain in her chest lessened as she breathed him in, filled her lungs with his scent and her hands with his shirt. At first, he stilled with her closeness, but after a moment he accepted her, running his hands through her hair and resting his chin on top of her head.

Time seemed to pass slowly as she sat there, on the ground, with Jace seated in front of her. When she finally felt calm enough to pull away, she realized that not only did she have her face pressed against the crook of his neck, but she also had her arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding him tightly against herself. With a gasp, she jerked back, but he didn't let go, and she met his gaze.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly, his eyes studying her carefully.

Clary felt her face heat almost instantly. She wanted to speak but was afraid it would come out all shaky, so she nodded instead.

"You sure?" He ran his fingers through the hair just above her ear, his eyes never leaving hers.

She fought against a shiver and lost. "Y—yes." She stared at him for another moment, knowing her hands were still on him, and his on her, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. "How—how did you know what to do?"

Grinning his lop-sided smile, he leaned in closer and Clary's stomach did that little flippy thing again. "Don't tell anyone," he whispered, "but I'm not a stranger to them."

"Really?" Her eyes widened.

He nodded. "Not for a long time, but I remember what it's like."

"God, it was awful. I felt like I was dying."

"I know." He held her gaze, his hands still stroking her hair and hers still wrapped around his neck. "Do you—do you know what caused it?"

She shook her head and closed her eyes briefly. "I don't really know. One minute I was fine—a little worried about the assembly because my mom was there. And then," she took in a shuttering breath, "I saw my mother holding Jonathan's jersey and the slide show started . . . and I just lost it. All these images from the crash kept coming and I—" Her heart started pounding again and her breaths turned shallow.

"Okay, shhh." Jace grasped her face once more. "It's all right. You don't have to say anymore. I get it."

Clary closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, concentrating on the feel of his touch against her cheek and the sound of his voice. Slowly, the panic died down and she was able to open them and focus again. When she did, she found herself gazing right into his golden stare. Without thinking, she unclasped her hands from around him and ran them up his neck, until they rested on either side of his face, her thumbs grazing his cheeks as her fingers brushed lightly against the soft curls hanging just behind his ear.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Anytime."

She sat there, thinking she should probably get up or at least remove her hands from him, but he wasn't moving and she really didn't want to either. So instead, she looked at him. Really looked. He was so—_pretty. _How had she never noticed before? Yeah. She knew he was attractive, a girl would have to be blind not to see that, but he was just absolutely—beautiful. All gold and soft and hard and—Jace. He felt so warm and alive under her fingers. She wanted to run them over his entire face, taking in the soft and rough of his skin, the coarse stubble lining his chin, and the full curve of his mouth. She found herself wondering what it would feel like if she just leaned forward, closing the few inch gap between them, and touched her lips to his. Would they be as soft as they looked? Would they be warm or cool? Wet, or smooth and dry? All it would take was a few inches. A few short inches.

"Ahem."

Clary jumped at the sound of a voice near the doorway. Jace dropped his hands from her and she followed suit, her eyes falling on Isabelle and her mother standing in the bright hallway light. Isabelle's mouth hung open and her eyes nearly popped out of her head.

"Clarissa Fray-Morgenstern. What in the world are you doing?" Jocelyn asked, her hands crossed over her chest and her foot tapping furiously on the tile.

Clary knew she should be concerned, possibly even frightened and embarrassed that her mother had caught her in a semi-compromising looking position with a boy. At least, in her mother's eyes it was. But somehow, she couldn't find the energy to care, because the only feeling she had coursing through her at that moment, was regret. Regret that his hands no longer touched her and that hers no longer held him.


	9. Rushing Current

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

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_**Chapter 9: Rushing Current**_

_Chapter songs:_

_Gotta be Somebody's Blues - Jimmy Eat World _

_Stop & Stare - One Republic_

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Her hands were on him, her thumbs brushing his cheeks, and her fingers mingling in his hair. Brilliant green eyes bored into his, holding him trapped within their stare. The way she touched and looked at him was not at all indicative of friendship. Jace could see the beginnings of something else stirring behind her eyes, and as much as he shouldn't, he liked it. God, how he liked it. Another moment longer and he'd be forced to lean in and take her mouth with his. Feel her warmth and softness, taste the sweetness of her lips. It wouldn't be his fault. He wouldn't be able to help it.

No, he couldn't do that. He _couldn't. _Not only was she Isabelle's friend, she was his. And she was hurting, projecting that pain onto him and turning it into something else entirely. He couldn't soil that, couldn't take advantage of her. What he thought he saw couldn't really be what she felt. But Christ, he couldn't pull away. He begged for the strength to just _move_. To be strong enough for just that moment. To do the right thing. He didn't want to see her like he saw other girls. As things to kiss, hold, and ultimately toss away when he stopped feeling fulfilled by them. He was much too damaged to be anything more. And she deserved more. More than he was. More than he could ever hope to be. He didn't _want _her to look at him like that.

But she was so close. So damn close he could feel her breath flowing over his cheeks. And she kept_ looking_ at him. Did she have any idea at all what she could do to any male with that look? When she batted those wide, innocent eyes? Eyes that let every single emotion gush out and straight into the soul of whoever dared stare into them. She was killing him softly with just a look. A safe, spotless, untainted gaze. And she didn't have a clue.

"Ahem."

And with just that sound the spell was broken.

Jace breathed out silently in relief. Removing his hands from her was nearly impossible, but he managed. Clary's fell from his face as she turned toward the voice. Standing in the doorway, backlit by the florescent monstrosities the school called lights, were Isabelle and Clary's mother. Isabelle's eyes looked as though they may fall out at any second, and Jocelyn looked—well, she just looked mad.

"Clarissa Fray-Morgenstern. What in the world are you doing?"

Jace stood slowly from his crouched position on the floor and Clary followed, swaying slightly as she stretched to full height. He reached out, grabbing the tops of her arms to steady her. She peeked up at him, giving him a small, apologetic but grateful smile before turning back to her mother.

"Honey, what's wrong?" Jocelyn's anger was replaced by concern as she crossed the threshold and wrapped her arms around Clary's shoulders.

Jace released his hold on her and moved a few feet away. Isabelle narrowed her eyes and studied him curiously. He stuck his hands in his pockets and glared back at her.

"N—nothing." Clary stiffened under her mother's embrace.

Jace wanted to tell Jocelyn to let go, knowing how uncomfortable it was to feel smothered after an attack. But kept his mouth shut, figuring it probably wouldn't be a good idea.

"I—got a little dizzy. Isabelle and Jace were just helping me."

Jocelyn glanced at Jace. "So, you're Jace, then." She eyed him carefully. "Clary's spoken quite a bit about you."

Clary's eyes widened and her cheeks turned bright pink.

Jace tried extremely hard not to smirk at the idea that she'd been talking about him. To her mother of all people. "Yeah, I am."

Jocelyn studied him for a few moments, saying nothing more to him. Finally, she shifted her gaze to Isabelle, smiled, and said, "Thank you for taking care of my baby, Isabelle, and for coming to get me." She maneuvered Clary toward the door. "If you'll excuse us."

It wasn't lost on Jace that Jocelyn said nothing to him about his role in taking care of Clary. Not that he cared, but it seemed odd that she'd completely dismiss him. He and Isabelle moved out of their way and Jocelyn ushered Clary forward. Just before they exited to the hallway, Clary glanced over her shoulder, gave Jace an apologetic look, and then disappeared from the room.

As soon as they were gone, Isabelle whipped around, her hair nearly smacking Jace in the face as she turned toward him. "What the hell was that?"

Jace rolled his eyes and tried to move past her, but she blocked the entrance. "For God's sake, Isabelle, I was just trying to help her. You don't have to get all pissy about it."

Isabelle placed her hands on her hips and glared up at him. "Not you, ass. You know, not everything is about you." She blew a piece of dark hair out of her face. "I meant her. What the hell was that? She wasn't just dizzy."

Slightly taken aback that she wasn't yelling at him about going near her friend, Jace hesitated before regaining his composure. "Yeah, well, it's nice to see you're not quite as dense as I assumed you were."

She scowled.

"It was a panic attack." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"How did you know what to do?"

"Does it matter?"

Isabelle narrowed her eyes. "You know, maybe if you opened up a little bit everyone wouldn't think you're such an ass."

Jace thought about that for a moment and then met her eyes. "You know what? I'm okay with that."

He pushed past her and made his way into the hall. Looking up, he spotted Clary and her mother a little ways ahead. Clary leaned with her back against one of the bright red lockers. She caught his eye for the briefest of moments before he shoved his hands in his pockets and lowered his gaze to the floor, studying the slate gray tiles and moving away without a word.

.o.O.o.

Clary followed Jace's retreating form with her eyes. She wanted to talk to him, to thank him properly and apologize for her mother's blatant rudeness toward him. But there was no way she was getting out of Jocelyn's clutches at the moment.

"Clarissa, are you listening to me?"

Clary forced her gaze away from Jace and back to her mother. "Yes."

Jocelyn crossed her arms and stared down her nose at Clary. "Then what did I just say?"

Clary closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and pointer finger, and let out a slow breath. "I don't know, Mother."

"I asked you to explain exactly what happened this morning."

"Well," Clary hesitated, not knowing precisely what she wanted to tell her mother. Jocelyn tended to overreact—case in point, her treatment of Jace. "I just started feeling dizzy, so Jace and Isabelle helped me out of the auditorium." There. She figured that would be enough to appease Jocelyn's concern over her well being.

"That's all well and good but it doesn't explain to me why you were touching that boy like that, and him you." She narrowed her eyes. "Is there something going on that I don't know about?"

Clary sighed. "No, Mom. There's nothing going on."

Her mother spoke softly, yet with subtle warning. "Do you like him, Clary?"

"Sure." She shrugged as nonchalantly as she could muster. It was always best to not make a big deal out of anything with Jocelyn. If she acted like she liked Jace or even disliked him, Jocelyn would make it into more than it was. "Why wouldn't I? He's always been nice to me."

"And that's it? He's just been nice to you. Nothing else?"

Clary rolled her eyes. "Yes. Nothing else." She crossed her arms over her chest. "When are you going to give me a break on the whole boy issue? I mean, I've been best friends with a boy for practically my whole life. I don't understand why you can't trust me."

"Oh, baby." Jocelyn stepped closer, pushing back a chunk of hair that had fallen into Clary's eyes. "It's not that I don't trust you. It's just . . . well, after the incident last year, I just worry about you."

Clary scowled. "Mom, not all boys are like Julian. You can't just lump them all into a stereotype." She paused. "Alec and Jace are nice. You shouldn't treat them like they're not, just because of what happened."

Jocelyn frowned. "What are you talking about? I've never even met this . . . Alec, and as for Jace, well, I've met him once for about two seconds."

"Well, it was long enough for you to be rude."

Jocelyn stared at her in disbelief.

Clary cowered slightly under her mother's gaze, but didn't back down. "You thanked Isabelle for her help and completely ignored Jace when, if I'm being completely honest, he's actually the one who helped me."

"Oh, Clary, don't be ridiculous," Jocelyn said as if she were bored with the conversation.

Clary lifted her hands into the air and dropped them to her side. "Are we done now? I need to get back to the gym before they release and I'm late to class."

"Are you feeling up to going back? I could take you home if you're still not feeling well."

Clary waved her hand in front of her. "No, I'm fine. Really. You should go."

Jocelyn eyed her for a moment before leaning in and placing a kiss on her forehead. "Okay. But if you start feeling bad just call and I'll come get you, all right?"

"I'll be fine, Mom."

As Jocelyn made her way down the hall, Isabelle came up to Clary, her eyes wide and brimming with questions.

Clary sighed and shook her head. "Don't ask." She started toward the gymnasium. "Come on. We wouldn't want to miss any more of this super exciting assembly."

Isabelle laughed and hooked her arm through Clary's, pulling Clary tight against her side as they walked toward the double doors.

.o.O.o.

"Well, I was right about one thing." Simon poked at the yellow blob on his tray with a plastic fork. "It's definitely a surprise." He jabbed a mushy yellow-orange square and held it up in front of his face. "Please tell me this is a carrot."

Clary snorted. "I don't understand why you just don't bring your lunch. You would avoid so much lunchtime drama if you did."

Simon pushed around a rock hard brownie occupying one compartment of his tray. "I don't want to look like a dork carrying my little brown sack around with me."

Clary raised one brow in his direction. "Simon—I say this with the utmost love and adoration—you're already a dork. A lunch sack is not going to make that worse."

"I am not a dork." He raised his chin indignantly. "I'm—" He grimaced at her smirk. "Shut up."

Clary laughed, reaching into her sack and pulling out the extra peanut butter and jelly sandwich she'd packed for Simon that morning. His suffering through school lunch was not something new. She handed it to him with a grin. He snatched it from her hand, removed it from the plastic baggie, and took a huge bite, smiling at her with his mouth full and cheeks puffed out. Clary shook her head and twisted her hands around the green apple she'd taken from her bag.

"There you are." Isabelle plopped down in the seat next to Clary, taking a zippered lunch tote from her backpack. "For this school being so small, it's surprisingly hard to find people."

"This school's not that small, Izzy." Clary bit into her apple, the juice dripping down her chin.

"It is compared to our last one." She unloaded the contents of her lunch onto the table in front of her, choosing to start with her sandwich first. "So," she took a bite, chewing slowly, and sipped from her thermos, "are you guys going to the dance on Friday?"

Clary shrugged. "I don't know. Sebastian asked me that this morning."

Simon's head whipped in her direction, his eyes wide.

Isabelle raised her brows. "Hottie wanted to know if you were going to the dance?" She scooted her chair closer, sitting on the edge of it. "What did you say?"

"I said maybe."

"Maybe?" Isabelle shook her head and sighed.

"What?"

She rolled her eyes. "Are you really that naïve when it comes to boys?"

Apparently, since she had no idea what Isabelle was getting at.

"He likes you, Clary."

Clary laughed. "No he doesn't. He's just looking out for me." She bit into her apple once more.

Isabelle snorted. "God, you're so clueless." She took another long draw out of her thermos. "Tell you what. Let's all go together, you know, as a group."

"A group?" Clary's ears perked at the sound of that idea. Though she quickly squashed the excitement the thought of who might exactly be in this "group" brought on.

"Yeah. Ooh, maybe you can spend the night after? You want to?"

"Sure." She smiled. "That sounds fun."

Isabelle turned to Simon. "Do you have a car?"

Simon's cheeks turned pink. "Um, no, but my Mom does."

"Can you borrow it?" She paused. "You are sixteen, right?"

"Yes and yes. But doesn't your brother drive?"

"Yeah, but he might be otherwise engaged." She rolled her eyes and jerked her head in the direction of a table across the lunchroom.

Clary followed her movement, spying a group of soccer players huddled around the table along with a few girls. The girls put on a show of laughing at everything the boys said, causing Clary to roll her eyes at the pathetic mating dance going on.

Jace sat amongt the other guys, seeming at home with his teammates. Clary hated to admit it, but she'd been secretly hoping to spot him. She didn't know what was happening to her, but she'd found it increasingly difficult to keep him from her mind all day. The memory of how his hands felt as he caressed her cheeks, and the scent of him as she'd buried her face into his chest would not leave her mind no matter how hard she tried to push it away. But as she caught sight of him now, another new feeling filled her. To his side, leaning toward him and smiling, was Kaelie Meadows. Tall, blonde, perfect Kaelie Meadows. Clary's chest grew uncomfortable as she watched Jace turn and smile at Kaelie. Kaelie bit her lip and looked up at him under her lashes, making Clary's heart plummet into her stomach. Her mouth went dry and suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to get out of there. She didn't want to watch, didn't even want to be in the same room. Not understanding her own reaction, she gathered the remnants of her lunch and stood.

Simon and Isabelle glanced up at her curiously.

"I'm not hungry," she said in a tight voice, feeling her throat constrict around it.

"Well, don't waste it!" Simon said, grabbing the bag and shoving a few chips in his mouth.

Isabelle studied her intently. "You okay? You look kind of pale."

"Yeah, I'm good." She swallowed against the increasing pressure in her throat. "I'm going to go use the bathroom before class. I'll see you later." Turning quickly, she made her way to the double doors, cursing herself for acting so stupid. Why did she care who Jace talked to, or flirted with for that matter? They were friends. That was all. She knew sooner or later he'd attract the attention of some female, or if she were being more realistic, multiple females. So, why did the sight of it make her feel like vomiting? Furthermore, why did she wish, with everything in her, that it was her he'd smiled at like that?

.o.O.o.

Jace slung his bag over his shoulder as he made his way through the now empty halls. The team meeting had lasted longer than he'd anticipated and he hoped Isabelle found another ride home. At least he had a night off from practice, which was a bonus. He always hated having a full on practice the night before a game—or in this instance, a scrimmage against a neighboring high school.

As he pushed through the front doors, his eyes fell on an amusing sight. Clary walked down the sidewalk carrying a large box, stumbling against its weight and the cracks in the pavement under her feet. Chuckling, he bound down the steps and caught up to her within a few moments.

"Hey, Pippi."

She gasped and nearly dropped the box. "Jesus! Why are you always sneaking up on me?"

"It's your own fault for not following through on your promise to put a bell on me." He grinned.

She pursed her lips against a smile of her own. "Yes, well, now I'm definitely getting you one."

"Would you like some help with that?" He pointed to the box in her hands.

She glanced down, her cheeks coloring slightly. "Oh. Um, that's okay, I've got it," she said as she struggled against its weight.

He rolled his eyes, shifted his bag further onto his shoulder, and reached out grasping the box. "Don't be stupid." He took it from her, brushing her hands in the process. "I assume you were going to walk home carrying this?"

She nodded, her face growing even brighter.

He sighed. "Come on. I'll give you a ride."

"Oh. You don't have to. It's only a couple of blocks."

He looked back at her incredulously. "Yeah, I know. I live right next door, remember?"

She scowled, scrunching her little nose up and rolling her eyes. He shook his head and smiled as he made his way across the parking lot, stopping beside the black classic '69 Mustang he and Robert had been working on for the past three summers.

"Wow," Clary said, her mouth dropping and eyes widening. "Is this yours?"

Jace shrugged and twisted the key into the lock of the passenger side door, opening it wide and stashing the box in the backseat. "It's a work in progress. Robert and I have been restoring it for a few years."

"It's great." She glanced up at him and narrowed her eyes. "Just how many hidden talents do you have?"

He grinned and leaned in closer, his face just inches from hers. "Guess you'll just have to wait and find out." He pulled back and gestured for her to get in.

Clary ducked under his arm and settled herself in the passenger seat. Jace pushed the door shut before rushing around to the driver's side, surprised to find that she'd already unlocked the door for him. After throwing his bag in the back, he turned the key in the ignition, the radio blaring as it turned over. He reached forward and turned the dial down.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I like it loud."

"Me too." She smiled and leaned forward, turning the volume back up.

He shook his head and grinned.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"No, what?"

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, making sure to watch the road as he drove. "You're just constantly surprising me."

"No, that'd be you with all your sneaking around."

"Not that kind of surprise." He laughed, stopping at the red light and turning his head toward her. "You're always doing and saying things I don't expect."

"Oh." She stared at her hands, a faint line forming between her brows.

"I don't mean it as a bad thing," he said quietly, pulling out as the light turned green. "I never know what's going to come out of your mouth or how you're going to react. It keeps life interesting. Well, at least when I'm hanging out with you."

She gave him a small smile. "Thanks. I like you too."

"Well, seeing as we have to endure each other's presence being neighbors and all, that's probably a good thing."

"Yes, much better than if I couldn't stand you."

"Give me a little time. I'm sure I'll get on your nerves sooner or later."

She giggled. Finally. He thought she'd keep that sad look on her face the entire ride home. After a few minutes, he reached his house and pulled into the driveway, killing the engine. Clary didn't move and stared at her hands as the creases formed on her forehead once again. With a deep breath, she looked up and met his eyes.

"Listen," she said. "About this morning."

Jace shook his head. "We don't have to talk about that."

She closed her eyes briefly and then opened them again. "I know, but I have a few things I want to say."

He raised his brows as she shifted against the leather seat, obviously uncomfortable about something.

"I feel really bad for how my mom treated you. It was rude and not at all your fault."

He opened his mouth to tell her it was fine, that it wasn't a big deal because no girls' mothers ever liked him. But she raised her finger to tell him she wasn't done.

"She's very over-protective when it comes to me talking to any boys besides Simon."

He wanted to ask her why, but figured she'd tell him if she wanted.

"And, well, it was just really embarrassing and I wanted to tell you I'm sorry." She looked up at him from under her lashes, causing his chest to tighten slightly.

"It's fine, Clary. It didn't bother me." He shrugged, trying to fight off the strangeness she was causing inside him. "Truth be told, I'm used to that kind of thing."

"Well, it's not fine with me." Her eyes sparked with anger. "I just—you really helped me today, and I didn't even get a chance to thank you properly before she came in and treated you like crap."

"Clary, you said thank you. What more is there?"

She took in a deep breath and met his eyes. The way her gaze flicked between both of his made him believe she was contemplating something. He had no idea what it could be, but something about the way she was looking at him made his chest tighten even more.

"I don't know," she whispered, "but a simple 'thank you' didn't seem like enough."

Jace swallowed. "It was enough for me."

"But not for me." She closed her eyes for a moment and leaned forward across the consol.

Jace's breath caught as she came closer to him, thinking he should pull away but really, really not wanting to. He watched her, frozen in his position, as she brought her face right up next to his and turned toward him. His eyes closed and he released the breath he'd been holding as her soft lips brushed against his cheek.

"Thank you." She breathed against him, her warm breath flowing over his face.

He wanted to turn to her and catch her lips with his, but he didn't. He just sat there as still as possible, forcing himself to ignore his body's pleas to give in to what he wanted.

Clary shifted slowly back into her seat and turned toward the door, pulling against the handle and shoving it open. She hopped out and reached behind the seat to retrieve her box and bag. Before shutting the door, she leaned down and smiled.

"Thanks for the ride."

He forced a grin and nodded. She closed the door and started across the lawn toward her house. As Jace watched, he lifted his hand to his face, cupping it slowly over his cheek which still burned where she'd kissed him.

When she disappeared into the house, he groaned and dropped his forehead to the steering wheel. He sat there for another moment before letting out a deep breath and finally forcing himself to get out of the car. Grabbing his bag from the backseat, he trudged up to the house, conflicting emotions battling inside of him.

As soon as he opened the door, Max raced up to him waving a manila envelope over his head. "Look! You got mail, Jace."

He furrowed his brows. "Really?" Taking the envelope, he studied the front, noticing there was no return address. "Hmm…" He looked up into Max's smiling face. "Thanks."

Max grinned wider and took off into the living room. Jace chuckled and turned toward the stairs. He made his way to his room, deposited his bag on the back of the chair at his immaculate desk, and sat on his bed. Pursing his lips, he slid his finger under the sealed flap of the envelope. Once it was opened, he tipped it upside down and shook until a smaller, white envelope fell out onto the floor. He frowned and bent to pick it up.

Jace sat back up and flipped the envelope over, gasping as he read the name on the return address. Closing his eyes, he fisted the paper in his palm, and leaned his forehead against his knuckles. He tried blocking out the memories the name caused to flash in his mind. But no matter how hard he squeezed his lids together, he couldn't make the images go away. With a deep breath, he opened his eyes once more, smoothed out the crinkled envelope and stared numbly at the return address:

_Michael Wayland. _

_Grayson County State Penitentiary._


	10. Drifting

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

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_**Chapter 10: Drifting**_

_Chapter Songs:_

_Realize by Colbie Calliet_

_Behind Blue Eyes by Limp Bizkit *Behind Blue Eyes lyrics belong to The Who_

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Once the door clicked shut behind her, Clary leaned up against it, her back flush with the cool surface, and let out a slow breath. The box in her hands grew heavier and the rough corners dug into her flesh. But at that moment, she was afraid if she left the stable fixture her weakened knees may give out causing her to dump the contents all over the foyer floor. Her heart pounded in her chest and her lips still tingled from the feeling of his skin against them. A small part of her was mortified that she dared to be so bold, but another larger portion was elated she'd had the guts to do it.

She closed her eyes, trying to clear her mind from all of the conflicting things floating around inside. How he could make her feel safe and scared and strong and weak all at the same time had her mind spinning. She felt dizzy with confusion.

Jace was her friend. A secret friend, but a friend none the less.

He'd been so understanding and gentle with her that morning. A side of him she knew not many people were lucky enough to see—as evidenced by the numerous occasions Isabelle had referred to him as an ass. But she had seen it, and all of it had been directed at her. He'd talked to her, touched her, and helped her through one of the scariest moments of her life. Not once had he made her feel stupid about the whole thing. In fact, he'd never mentioned it again, and when she tried to bring it up, he'd told her she didn't need to talk about it.

When she'd made the decision to kiss him, it had been completely selfish. Yes, she wanted to thank him more than she'd been allowed that morning, but the kiss was pure indulgence on her part. She just _had_ to know what it would feel like to be that close to him. To feel his skin against her lips. To know how her nearness would affect him, if at all. She smiled to herself as she remembered the small catch in his breath when she moved toward him, the way it had wooshed out as she brushed his cheek, and the confused glint in his eyes when she pulled away.

As much as those actions would have made her believe the situation had affected him the same way it had her, she knew Jace was not like any other guy she'd ever met and maybe it meant something different coming from him. He was so hard to read. There were times Clary thought she saw through the barriers he'd built around himself, but she couldn't be sure. He hadn't been as forthcoming about himself as she'd been with him. Maybe he couldn't be. Maybe he just didn't feel the same way. As much as that sucked, it wouldn't surprise her. Jace wasn't the type of boy that fell for girls like her. But he was definitely the type of boy every girl had the ability to lose her heart over.

Clary's chest tightened with the realization that she was about to do just that.

"Oh hell," she groaned, dropping her head back against the door with a soft thud.

The beautiful, broody, boy next door had effectively weaseled his way into her heart and was slowly but surely chipping away at it, stealing pieces and stowing them away in a place she couldn't penetrate no matter how hard she tried. With each smile, each soft touch and reassuring word, she became more and more lost to her sensibility. He wasn't just an attractive boy to her. He was so much more. A kindred spirit in pain and heartache.

Jace understood her better than anyone else, even though they hadn't known each other long. It seemed like he knew just what she needed when she needed it. When she needed to talk, he listened. When she needed to listen, he talked. When she needed a distraction, he teased. When she needed someone to just be there, he sat silently at her side. And when she needed to know she wasn't alone in the cruel actuality of this world, he played for her.

He allowed her to feel his deepest, darkest, most painful emotions. The ones that came through loudly in his music. They were exposed with each other in ways they couldn't be with anyone else, because no one else had lived there in the blackest corners of their reality. The place where no sun shined, no birds sang, and no flowers bloomed. The place where only guilt, pain, and hopelessness thrived. The place to which she'd banished herself the moment Jonathan's heart stopped beating. When his spirit left behind only an empty shell as a reminder of what had once been so good, so courageous, so alive. As awful as it was, Jace lived there too, and she was happy not to be alone anymore.

The thing that had most surprised her about her interactions with Jace, was how she felt better, lighter, and less sad when she was with him. She almost felt like a normal girl again. Maybe not the same as she'd been before the accident—then again, maybe she'd never be that girl again—but she felt better. She wondered if maybe, just maybe, she had the same effect on him.

"Clary?" Jocelyn came around the corner, wiping her hands on a blue and white checkered dish towel. She stopped before fully entering the foyer from the kitchen. "There you are. Why are you just standing there in front of the door?"

"Um." Clary shifted the box in her arms, wondering how she'd managed to hold it for so long without dropping it. "I just got here."

Jocelyn furrowed her brows. "Oh, why were you late?"

She lifted the box slightly. "Mrs. Hastings asked me to stay after class to gather up and return the art books you loaned her."

"Oh, I forgot." Jocelyn draped the towel over her shoulder and walked forward, reaching out and removing the box from Clary's arms. "This is heavy. How did you manage to carry it all the way home?"

Clary's face flared. "I got a ride." She hesitated, but quickly recovered, hoping Jocelyn didn't notice. "With the Lightwoods." Okay, with _one_ of them, but what Jocelyn didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

"That was nice," Jocelyn said, distracted. She heaved the box onto the island in the center of the kitchen.

Clary climbed up onto the wooden barstool and studied her mother curiously. She furrowed her brows. "Mom, what's going on?"

"What?" Jocelyn pushed a chunk of auburn hair out of her eyes as she dug through the box, removing the art books and sorting them into piles according to medium. "Nothing."

"Don't lie."

Jocelyn sighed, placed her hands palm down on the countertop, and leaned against them before meeting Clary's gaze. "I'm going out tonight. After my class."

Clary reached forward and grabbed a banana from the crystal fruit bowl in the middle of the island, drawing the yellow peel back slowly. "Okay . . ." she half-asked, wondering what the big deal was.

"With a man." She eyed Clary carefully.

Clary paused, the banana almost touching her mouth. "A man?"

Jocelyn nodded.

Clary took a bite of the fruit and chewed slowly before swallowing. "Anyone I know?" she asked, trying her hardest to act indifferent.

Her mother's cheeks colored and she glanced down at the counter, mumbling incoherently.

"What was that?"

Jocelyn sighed, still not meeting Clary's eyes. "Luke."

"Luke?" Clary's eyes widened. "Bookstore Luke? That Luke?"

"Yes, Clary. That Luke." She glanced up, her gaze uncertain. "Is that a problem?"

Clary bit back a smile and shook her head. She'd always adored Luke.

"Okay." Jocelyn nodded and continued unpacking the books. "I bought you a frozen pizza to make for dinner since my class starts at five tonight. You can have Simon over if you want."

"Simon's over at Eric's tonight." She rolled her eyes. "Some sort of 'project.' Though I'm highly suspicious he's joining that crappy band again."

Jocelyn snorted, knowing exactly just how crappy Eric's band truly was. "Isabelle perhaps?"

Clary shrugged. "Maybe."

"Okay, baby." She walked around the island, kissed Clary on the head, and started toward the front hall to go upstairs. "I need to go get ready since I'm meeting Maria early to set up for the class."

"Do you want me to help?" Clary hopped off the stool.

"No." Jocelyn gave her a small smile. "You've had a long day, what with school just starting and all. Stay home. Relax."

Clary smiled and nodded, watching as her mother disappeared from the room.

An hour later, Clary had preheated the oven and was bent over it, sliding the pizza in as Jocelyn came back down stairs. Clary turned around and gasped.

"What?" Jocelyn froze, her hand halfway inside her purse.

"Nothing. You just—" Clary's eyes traveled over her mother, noting the flowing yellow skirt and white sleeveless camisole top. Her hair brushed her shoulders in soft, flowing curls. "You look really nice."

Jocelyn smiled and reached out to pat Clary's cheek. "Thank you." She turned and continued pawing through her purse. "Did you find someone to come keep you company?"

"No. I think I'm just going to hang out by myself."

Jocelyn glanced up and frowned. "Are you sure? You don't want to hang out with anyone?"

Clary shrugged. "I'll be fine, Mom."

"All right, honey." She leaned in and placed a kiss on Clary's head. "I'll be back around ten."

"Sure." Clary smiled. "Have fun." She winked.

Jocelyn rolled her eyes and started toward the door. "Behave."

"Don't I always?" Clary called after her and heard the door click shut.

She chuckled to herself as she thought about her mother going on a date—an actual date—with Luke. Ever since her mother bought the shop next to Luke's bookstore, Clary had noticed a certain spark between the two of them. She wondered when, if ever, Jocelyn would get a clue and finally accept that Luke saw her as much more than a friend. It wasn't like he wasn't totally obvious about it. He was always stopping by, seeing if her mother needed anything, bringing her coffee, conveniently being around whenever she needed a big, strong man to help her out. Sometimes Clary had to roll her eyes at how oblivious her mother was when it came to stuff like that.

The oven's buzzer startled her out of her thoughts and she moved to take the pizza from inside. After cutting it into slices, she grabbed two pieces along with her backpack and headed up to her room to do her homework. Yes, homework on the first day of school. She placed the food on her desk and hung her bag on the back of her chair before unzipping it and grabbing her math and history books from inside. Scowling, she pulled her chair out and plopped down, taking a bite of her pizza and opening her algebra book.

After a moment, she realized how stuffy it was in her room and moved to the window. As it slid open, a cool breeze drifted in, puffing out her curtains and flowing through her hair. She turned to make her way back to the desk, when she heard the faint sound of a guitar wafting through the open window. Furrowing her brow, she made her way back, listening harder through the opening. The melody swirled around her, filling her chest with a sadness she'd never experienced before listening to Jace play.

But today it was different. The feeling behind his playing had changed. Pain, mixed with anger and self loathing laced each note, making his emotion so much more palpable than usual. It wasn't until he started singing that she really understood. Really felt his dejection.

_*No one knows what it's like _

_To be the bad man, to be the sad man_

_Behind blue eyes_

_And no one knows what it's like_

_To be hated, to be fated_

_To telling only lies_

Clary leaned against the wall next to the window and slid down until she sat on the floor. She closed her eyes and let his words consume her.

_But my dreams, they aren't as empty_

_As my conscience seems to be_

_I have hours, only lonely_

_My love is vengeance, that's never free_

Tears fell down her cheeks as she wondered what had happened to make him feel the way he did. Not only that day, but in his past. Who made him feel that way? Who made him feel so hopeless, so worthless?

Anger swelled inside of her as she listened to the misery pour from his mouth, from his heart. She knew the words were written by someone else, but the feelings were all his and she hated whoever it was that made him feel them.

Clary wiped the tears from her face and slowly stood. She turned toward the window and carefully pulled the curtain back, peering across the way. Jace's curtains were open, and she could see him, sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes closed, hand strumming the guitar he held close to his chest.

_No one knows what it's like_

_To be the bad man, to be the sad man_

_Behind blue eyes_

As the last note lingered in the space between them, Jace dropped his head, hanging it in defeat. Clary swallowed against the pressure in her throat and released the sheer fabric from her hand, letting it flutter back into place and obscure her view of him. She took a deep breath and stepped back from the window.

When she felt her mattress against the backs of her knees, she sat. Her heart felt heavy and torn. She wished there was a way she could help him like he had her. But his pain was deeper. So much more inaccessible than hers. Although she'd tried as hard as she could to bury it for those around her, it still lay right on the surface, ready to bleed through and consume her at any moment. But Jace's—his had been hidden for so long, just festering and waiting to force its way out, destroying him bit by bit in the process. He didn't need to tell her these things, she could feel it every time he played, every time she saw the sadness behind his eyes. She wanted to make it disappear. Wanted to make him feel less sad, less tortured. Just like he'd unknowingly done for her.

Suddenly unable to stand another moment inside her room, Clary rose to her feet and made her way down the stairs and out the front door. The crisp air flowed over her face, clearing her mind of all thought. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the calming breeze, the scent of fall permeating the air, the sound of children playing across the street, the feel of the sun warming her skin.

She didn't know how long she stood there, basking in the nature surrounding her, before she heard the sound of voices and the slamming of a screen door coming from next door.

"Isabelle, quit your whining and just come on," a woman's irritated voice said.

"I just don't understand why I have to go when you don't make_ him_." Isabelle crossed her arms over her chest.

The woman sighed. "You know why, Isabelle." She walked forward and put her arm around Isabelle's shoulders, moving her toward the car.

Clary didn't hear any more of their conversation, but watched as both women climbed in the car, and a little boy and a dark-haired man came out of the house after them. She watched as the car pulled away and made its way down the street. Furrowing her brow, she glanced next door, wondering why Jace didn't go with them. Didn't they know how sad he was? Even if he tried to hide it, they were his family. Why didn't they see? Couldn't they hear him at all when he played? Or did they and they just ignored it? With an exasperated breath, she walked across the porch, made her way down the stairs, and across the yard.

Before she knew it, she stood at the Lightwood's door, not really knowing what she was doing but feeling the compulsion to do it anyway. She raised her hand and pressed her finger to the doorbell. Apprehension flowed through her as she stood there, waiting and listening to the bells chime inside the house. It wasn't long before she heard movement inside. Her heart jumped slightly as the sound grew closer. With a rattle, the knob turned and the door swung open.

Jace stood on the other side, his brows lifted in surprise. "Hey." He glanced out to the driveway and let his eyes drift to the street. "You just missed Izzy. They just left."

Clary nodded. "I'm not here for Isabelle." She met his eyes. "I came for you."

His mouth opened slightly and his eyes widened. "Oh."

She swallowed against her insecurity and tilted her head. "Are you busy? You want to come out?"

He studied her for a moment, making her uncomfortable under his stare. "Sure. Just give me a second."

She nodded as he turned and ran up the stairs, leaving the door open. Turning away from the house, she gazed out at the street. Children played in their front yards, jumping rope and riding bikes, laughing and squealing as if everything was perfect and safe. Sometimes Clary wished she could still look at the world with that childlike innocence. But that purity had shattered on that dark road four and a half months ago. A chill raced down her spine causing her to shiver against it.

"Here," Jace said, startling her.

She whipped around, her hand held against her chest.

He grinned at her reaction and held up a black hoodie. "I thought you might get cold."

She reached out and slowly wrapped her fingers around the sweatshirt. "Thanks." She looked down at it. "I could have gone home and got one."

Jace shrugged. "I just grabbed it when I got mine."

Clary glanced up at him and noticed he was now wearing the same black hoodie he practiced in. Slipping her arms through the sleeves, she pulled it over her head. It was quite large on her, but it smelled just like Jace. Before completely freeing her face from the fabric, she took a deep breath through her nose, savoring the scent of him as it surrounded her. A small smile spread over her lips.

Once she was totally cocooned in Jace's shirt, she glanced up at him, her face heating slightly as he gazed down at her. "So," he moved forward and stood next to her, placing his hands on the wood railing and leaning against them while looking out at the street, "what brings you over here?"

She took another deep breath and turned her eyes on the children across the street. "I wanted to see if you were okay," she said in a quiet voice.

He turned toward her and she couldn't help looking up at him. Confusion spread over his face, but his eyes held the pain she was sure she'd heard in his music. "Of course I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be?"

She held his stare. "I heard you playing earlier."

His brow twitched and he turned away. "Oh."

With a sigh, she moved closer to him, placing her hand right next to his on the railing. "Why are you so sad, Jace?"

He closed his eyes briefly. "What makes you think I'm sad?" he asked and then met her gaze.

Clary studied him carefully before answering. "Because I can hear it when you play. And I can see it in your eyes." Hesitating for only a moment, she slowly lifted her hand and ghosted her fingers over his, running them lightly over his skin. His eyes dropped to their hands before rising to hers once more. "You don't have to talk to me, but . . . well, if you want to, I'll listen."

Jace let out a slow breath before removing his hand from under hers and leaning over, placing his elbows against the railing. "Don't worry about me. You have enough on your plate."

She frowned. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" He turned his face toward her.

"Push me away. I don't do it to you."

He sighed. "What do you want me to say, Clary?"

"You don't have to say anything. Just don't act like I shouldn't care. You're my friend, of course I care."

He shook his head and let out a pained chuckle. "Well, you shouldn't."

"Hey," she said, wanting to reach out and grab his face, making him look at her. But she knew how he could be about touching, so she didn't. "Look at me," she said softly.

His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath and he slowly turned to her. Her heart stuttered at the myriad of emotion showing in his eyes. Pain, anger, sadness, defeat. She wanted so badly to touch him, to smooth away the lines etched in his forehead, to show him that he was worth caring for.

"You don't have to put up walls with me. I'm not going to make you talk, I promise you that, but please, just don't hide. Maybe I don't know exactly what's going on with you, but I understand feeling alone, abandoned, lost." She hesitated, lowering her gaze to her hand which lay a few inches from his arm. "I understand it so well. But when I'm around you, I feel less like that. Less different, less sad, less . . . broken. Maybe it's not the same for you. Maybe I don't do that for you, but I'd like to try—if you'd let me."

Jace let out a loud sigh and stepped back, sitting on the porch swing behind them. Clary turned and leaned against the railing. He gazed out at the yard behind her.

"I got a letter from my father today. Not Robert, obviously. My—real father. The man who raised me."

She raised her brows, not speaking and waiting for him to continue.

"He's in prison."

She wanted to ask him why, but figured that information was probably best left alone until he offered it up.

He lowered his head and picked at his fingers. "He wants to see me."

Clary stepped forward and cautiously sat on the swing next to him. "Do you want to see him?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I shouldn't. I know that. It's just—I don't know. He may have been a horrible bastard but—he's my father."

A lone curl fell over his forehead and Clary wanted to reach over and move it away.

"I mean, I shouldn't, right?" He looked up at her, his eyes tight with pain. "The things he did . . ."

"I don't know." She shook her head. "Why shouldn't you? He's your father. You can feel whatever you feel, nothing's wrong with that."

He laughed darkly. "If you knew . . . well, you'd think I was crazy, or just plain stupid for even considering feeling anything for him."

Clary had to ask. She didn't want to, but she needed to know. "Did—did he hurt you?" she said so quietly she wasn't sure he'd heard her until he closed his eyes and let out a huff of breath.

Shaking his head, he said, "Not as much as her."

She wanted to hug him and tell him she was sorry, but she knew from experience that none of that helped. So she did the only thing she could, she was just there. Not speaking, not offering unwanted sympathy or advice, she just sat next to him, letting him feel what he felt and not interfering in it.

After several minutes of silence, he finally spoke. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course." Clary realized he was done talking about himself, and that was fine. She wouldn't push him to reveal more until he was ready. He'd never forced her to talk and she wasn't about to do it to him.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

She glanced up and smiled. "Okay."

"Why doesn't your mother like you talking to boys?"

"Oh, that." Her eyes fell to her lap and her cheeks burned. "It's sort of embarrassing." She glanced up, meeting his curious gaze. "Well, last year, I went with my brother to this party at one of his team member's house. He'd just transferred from Oak Valley High that year and had invited some of his old team members as well." She reached up and wrapped her hand around her hair, tugging it back and over her other shoulder. "My mom let me go because Jonathan would be there—otherwise she never would have let me since I was only fourteen." She glanced up.

Jace nodded for her to go on.

"Anyway, after we'd been there for a little while, this guy came up to me and introduced himself. He said his name was Julian and that he played Midfield for Oak Valley. I was stupid and girly over the fact that this junior was talking to me so I tried my best to flirt back." Her cheeks burned at the admission.

"He asked me to dance, so I said yes. We hung out together for an hour or so, just talking and laughing and dancing. I thought he was really nice." She closed her eyes and lowered her head. "I was really thirsty after dancing for so long so he said he'd get me a drink. I said okay and went to find us a place to sit. Once I finally did, he was back with a couple of sodas. We sat and talked more as we drank. But, after a little while, I started feeling really weird. I felt dizzy and nauseous and really disoriented." Her heart raced at the memory. "I told him I felt sick and asked if he'd go find my brother. But instead he asked if I wanted to lay down somewhere."

She shook her head, her face growing hotter as she relived the memory. "I was so stupid and trusting. I told him yes, so he helped me to one of the bedrooms upstairs. The whole way up I felt my body losing sensation. I couldn't feel my legs and my eyes kept wanting to close. After a few steps, he had to carry me. I had no idea what was going on. Once we got upstairs I blacked out," she said quietly, not looking up at Jace, feeling too stupid to meet his eyes.

"The next thing I knew, I was at home, in my own bed. When I opened my eyes, I saw my brother sitting there next to me and heard my mother on the phone, yelling about something needing to be done." She sighed. "Jonathan assured me nothing happened, that he saw Julian taking me upstairs, and saw that something was wrong with me. He—he found me before—well, you know." Clary finally raised her gaze to Jace's, and to her surprise, his eyes were filled with anger.

"He—he tried to—?"

Clary shrugged. "I don't know. I blacked out."

Jace let out a slow breath and looked away. "I can see why your mother is so cautious then. I guess that's a good thing."

Clary snorted. "Yeah, well, not every boy is like Julian."

"More than you know," he muttered and glanced back at her. "So what happened to him?

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

Clary nodded. "We didn't have any way to prove he'd given me anything. He claimed he didn't and we couldn't say any different. I didn't see him do it."

"What about your brother? When he found you . . ."

"He said he just found me lying on the bed, and Julian was in there leaning over me, but he wasn't doing anything else. Julian claimed he had just put me down. We'd literally just got into the room."

Jace huffed.

Clary snorted. "That's not the end of it."

Jace raised his brows.

"After that, Julian told everyone that I'd thrown myself at him and begged him to take me upstairs and—well, I suppose you can guess. He said I was acting loopy and he felt sorry for me so he was 'trying to help me out.'" She rolled her eyes and made quotation marks in the air with her fingers. "Whatever." She paused. "So anyway, now my mother thinks all boys are from the devil and none of them—besides Simon—can be trusted."

"I'm sorry that happened to you." He sat back against the swing. "But your mother's right. All boys are from the devil and none of us can be trusted." He flashed her a crooked grin.

She frowned. "Even you?"

He nodded. "Especially me."

"I don't believe you."

"Good. At least you're taking a little of your mother's advice."

Clary sighed. "I think you're a good guy, Jace."

"That's just because you don't know me very well."

She turned to him, watching his face as the sunlight faded, casting dull hues over both of them. Unable to stop herself, she reached up slowly and slipped her fingers under the loose curl hanging over his forehead, pushing it to the side. She expected him to pull away, or at least flinch, but he did neither. He just stared back at her as her fingers lingered near his temple. "Why don't you let me then?" she said.

He studied her for a moment longer. "I don't know if that's such a good idea."

Her hand fell to her side. "Why not?"

"Just trust me, it's not."

"But you just told me that no boys should be trusted—especially you."

His mouth lifted into a crooked grin. "At least you were listening."


	11. Caught in the Undertow

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

* * *

_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

* * *

_**Chapter 11: Caught in the Undertow**_

_Chapter Songs:_

_Hanging by a Moment__by Lifehouse (Scene 1) _

_Got You Where I Want You by The Flys (Scene 2)_

_Living Dead Girl by Rob Zombie (Scene 3)_

* * *

24-36-12-7-11. Jace pulled against the lock. It didn't move. He twisted the dial several times, clearing the previously entered combination and tried again. 24-36-12-7-11. Nothing. Rubbing his temples against the nagging headache caused from lack of sleep, he let out a slow breath and tried again. Still didn't budge. He let out a growl and banged his fist against the stubborn lock.

"Haven't you ever heard the expression, 'Patience is a virtue?'"

He turned his head toward the voice and met a pair of bright green eyes. "I'm not feeling especially virtuous this morning."

"Okay, well, how about, 'You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar?'"

"Why the hell would I want to catch flies? You do know they spend their time flying around dung heaps, right? And then they have the audacity to hover around our heads, land on our food, and then puke on it."

Clary rolled her eyes and reached out, gently removing his hands from the combination lock on his locker. "Do you have to be so philosophical this early in the morning? It's giving me a headache."

He absently rubbed his temples again. "Yeah well, misery loves company." He could play at the "old sayings" game as well.

She frowned. "You look tired."

"Rough night," he said, staring down at her concerned expression.

She studied him for a moment, her eyes passing over his face a few times before she sighed. "What's your combo?"

He crossed his arms over his chest. "I've already tried it three times. It's stuck."

"Watch me work my magic, Wayland." She flexed her fingers and grasped the lock, looking up at him expectantly.

Jesus. Did she have to call him Wayland? If it wasn't already hard enough for him to separate his stupid teenage urges from the fickle hold he had over their budding friendship, she had to go and call him by his last name. Which by the way, he found extremely sexy.

"Oh, I'm watching, _Fray_."

Clary scrunched her nose and puckered her mouth in the cutest way, he had to press one palm to the locker next to her and bite his lip to restrain himself from kissing it right off her face. God, he had to stop thinking like that. _Off limits, Wayland._

As Jace recited the numbers to her, she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and concentrated on entering the combination. An act that made it even more impossible for him to keep his mind off from pressing her up against the lockers in front of everyone and biting it himself. _Jesus. What the hell was wrong with him?_ After the final spin, she pulled on the lock and it clicked free easily. She turned back to him with a cocky grin and her brows raised.

"What? Do you want a gold star or something?"

"For starters. And then I want you to bow down and kiss my feet."

_For all that's good and holy did she just say kiss? Oh, don't tempt me, Pippi. _Hell. He _really_ had to stop thinking like that!

Jace moved the hand he held against the cool metal lockers closer to her head and leaned in until his face hovered just in front of hers. "You know, you're too damn smug for your own good."

"You're one to talk." Clary smirked and he grinned back. "I brought you something," she said, holding a small white box out to him.

He furrowed his brows and took the box, standing entirely too close to her, he knew, but unable to muster the strength to move away. "What's this?"

"Just something I promised you." She slipped under his arm, brushing against him before she walked backward a few paces into the crowded hallway. "See ya later, Goldie." As she whipped around, he heard her giggle.

Reaching up, he ran a hand through his hair and grabbed a fistful, willing his heart to slow and his mind to quit thinking inappropriate thoughts about her. He watched her make her way down the hall for a moment before peering back to the box in his hand. Pinching his brows together, he slipped the lid off. As he stared at what was inside, he shook his head and chuckled. How she did it he'd never know, but she never ceased to amaze him. Nestled snugly in the tissue paper padding, lay a tiny, silver bell threaded with a shiny red ribbon.

.o.O.o.

The first part of Jace's morning hadn't been too awful—except for the lingering headache and the annoying cheerleader-type girl that kept hanging all over him. Normally, he would have liked that kind of attention, but lately, he just wasn't all that interested. After scamming a couple of Tylenol from Isabelle, the pain in his head had lessened enough for him to think straight. Although his brain still felt fuzzy and slow. He hoped it would be completely gone before the scrimmage that afternoon.

After receiving the letter from his father and the conversation with Clary, his mind had worked overtime and he'd gotten maybe three hours of sleep the night before. He woke up in the morning feeling like he'd been run over by a train, and pretty much looking like it, too. As much as that sucked, he figured at least maybe his less than stellar appearance would keep Kaelie off his back. Unfortunately, that was not the case, so there he sat, smooshed between her and one of the other starting forwards at the round lunch table.

He picked at his lunch, not really listening to any of the conversations around him, and sneaking peeks across the room to where Clary sat with his sister and that dorky dark-haired boy—Simon, he thought his name was. Not that he cared.

Kaelie chattered endlessly about a number of inane subjects to which he couldn't have cared less. He pretended to listen by muttering a number of "mmm hmm's" and "uh huh's". She apparently didn't notice that he never looked at her because she went on and on for what seemed like forever. He was vaguely aware that she kept touching his arm possessively, wrapping her fingers tightly around his bicep and stroking the length of his forearm with her red-polished fingernails. He kind of wanted her to stop but couldn't find the energy it would take to tell her so. So, he let her continue. It wasn't like it didn't feel good. And if he closed his eyes, he could just pretend it was someone else's fingers on him.

God, he was so screwed. He had to find a way to stop thinking like that. It had gotten so much worse over the last several days. Ever since that day on the swings at the park next to the cemetery, really. But if he were being truly honest, he'd felt a spark of it the first time he saw Clary. There was definitely something different about her. She didn't act like all the other girls. Girls like Kaelie—whose nails were seriously starting to irritate him now. She didn't put on a front with him. Didn't act like she needed to dress up, or be anything other than who she was to impress him. In fact, he was quite positive she hadn't tried to impress him once. He liked it. A lot.

Raising his eyes to her table once more, he caught sight of something that made his heart thud just a little harder in his chest. Sebastian stood next to Clary, holding his lunch tray in one hand and the back of her chair with the other. He leaned over slightly and smiled. She grinned in return as she looked up at him.

Jace clenched his fist under the table. Unfortunately, before that moment he hadn't realized Kaelie had been holding onto his hand. She took his involuntary response as encouragement to lean closer into him. He rolled his eyes and shifted slightly in the opposite direction.

His eyes stayed glued to Clary and Sebastian as his heart pounded harder. He had the urge to jump out of his seat, grab her, and wrap his arms protectively around her, claiming her right then and there. He realized he had no right to feel possessive or jealous in any way when it came to her, but he did. And that thought kind of made him want to punch himself in the face for being such a douche. Anyway, they were just talking. There was no harm in that.

It was at that unfortunate moment that Sebastian chose to lift his hand and run it across Clary's forehead, tucking a wayward curl behind her ear. And then she freaking blushed! Jace's instinct about punching himself in the face turned to an undeniable urge to do the same, and possibly worse, to Sebastian. He'd never liked him anyway. It'd probably feel pretty damn good to connect his fist to Sebastian's nose. He snickered at the thought. But his laughter died quickly, only to be replaced by an insane swelling of heat in his chest as Sebastian leaned over and whispered something in Clary's ear. If it were possible, she grew even redder and giggled. He wondered briefly how many days he'd get suspended if he broke Sebastian's jaw and possibly the hand that had just touched her.

Just as he decided that he didn't care and any time served would be worth it, Kaelie's nasally voice broke him out of his jealous haze.

"So, what do you think, Jace?"

"Huh?" He reluctantly turned toward her, taking in her large poof of blonde hair and overly painted face. "Uh, yeah, whatever." He had no idea what she was talking about and frankly, he didn't care. The only thing he was concerned about at that moment was getting Sebastian far, far away from Clary.

Before he had a chance to even consider more of his Sebastian pummeling plan, Kaelie let out a loud squeal, catching the attention of pretty much everyone in the lunchroom. Turning to her with the intention of telling her to shut the hell up, he was ultimately surprised when her hands grabbed his face and her lips crashed down on his. For a second, his rational mind left the building only to be replaced by the horny teenage boy whose chest was being assaulted by a halfways decent pair of boobs.

A loud crash from across the lunchroom enabled him to think with the right brain once again and push Kaelie away, wiping at his mouth with disgust. He turned toward the sound and saw Clary, standing next to a food covered Sebastian. She was shaking and wiping at him with a tiny square napkin, apologizing profusely. Sebastian kept trying to grab her hand, telling her it was all right. Tears streamed down her face as she continued to dab at him until he finally took both of her wrists in his hand and shook his head. Her shoulders slumped forward and she turned her gaze toward Jace, meeting his for just a moment. He blinked, confused at the look in her eyes. Her face contorted and she turned, running toward the exit of the lunchroom and leaving Sebastian dripping in macaroni and cheese behind her.

.o.O.o.

An excited buzz echoed through the locker room as Jace pulled the black socks up over his shin guards, holding them securely in place. Tugging the black and white jersey over his t-shirt, he reached into his bag and took out his cleats, slipped them on, and tied the laces tight. He stood and shoved his bag into the open locker and turned to leave when a conversation on the other side of the lockers caught his attention.

"So, did you ask her?"

"Well, I would have, but before I got a chance, she freaked out and knocked my lunch all over me." Sebastian laughed.

"God, that was hilarious."

"Hey, shut up man. I had to walk around like that all day because I didn't have a change of clothes with me."

"I don't get why you want to go with her anyway. Isn't it weird?"

"Why would it be weird?"

"I don't know." The boy paused. "She's Fray's sister, man."

"So that makes her off-limits or something?" A locker door shut. "Didn't you see how hot she's getting? I don't know what happened over the summer but she's really filled out, if you know what I mean." Sebastian chuckled.

Jace clenched his jaw and his fists before slamming his locker shut forcefully. He made his way out of the room before he gave in to his urge to rearrange Sebastian's face and get himself kicked off the team. As he stepped out into the sun, he spotted Isabelle immediately, leaning up against the side of the bleachers, curling her hair around one of her fingers and smiling up at a tall blond-haired boy from the other team. _What the hell? _He scowled and walked over to her, not liking the way the moron was eyeing her, and stopped at her side, looking the boy up and down.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

The boy glared at Jace, his blue eyes narrowing in warning.

Isabelle rolled her eyes and elbowed Jace in the side. "Cut the crap, Jace." She turned to the boy and said apologetically, "Sorry, Julian. This is my asswipe of a brother."

Jace's eyes widened at the name and fell instantly to the gold letters spelling out the school name on the front of Julian's jersey.

_Oak Valley_.

Hell. He'd forgotten they were playing them today.

He stepped protectively in front of Isabelle, much to her protest, and stared Julian down. His heart hammered in his chest and he tensed in response to the adrenaline rushing through his veins. "Get away from my sister. Now."

Isabelle pushed against Jace's back, calling him every name she could think of as he trapped her against the bleachers. But he didn't budge. There was no way he'd let this douchebag touch his sister.

"Oh yeah?" Julian said. "Are you gonna make me?"

"If I have to."

Julian took a step forward just as a whistle blew and a man's voice called for all Oak Valley players to huddle up. He flashed Jace a smile and said, "Saved by the whistle."

Jace didn't move away from Isabelle. "Yes, you were."

Julian shook his head and chuckled as he jogged toward his team. "See you later, Isabelle."

Jace stayed where he was until Julian was out of sight, then he slowly lowered his arms and let Isabelle out from behind him.

She shoved him hard and grabbed his arm, twisting him around to face her. "What the hell was _that_?"

"You need to stay away from him."

"Why the hell do you care? You've never so much as blinked at any guy I've talked to before."

Jace let out a slow breath and met her eyes. "Just trust me. Stay away from him."

She narrowed her eyes and leaned nearer to him. "I don't have to do anything you say, Jace."

He reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her even closer. "Would you, just for once, shut your mouth and _listen_?" He pointed toward Julian with his free hand. "That guy is not going to come anywhere near you, or so help me I will break every single one of his limbs." Closing his eyes briefly, he let out a slow breath and softened his voice. "Would you please just trust me, Isabelle? He's not good for you."

She raised her brows at the change in his demeanor and stepped back, pulling her arm slowly from his grasp. "All right. But you're going to explain later, right?"

"What I can, yes."

"What's going on?" Clary's voice sounded behind him.

Jace whipped around, his stomach jumping at the sound of her voice. Yet another thing to add to his list of reasons for wanting to beat himself senseless. God, he was such a loser. But Clary would hardly meet his eyes._ What the hell?_ He realized he'd been thinking that a lot lately.

"Oh nothing." Isabelle sauntered up next to him. "Jace is just being his royal asseyness again." She shrugged. "Nothing unusual about that."

Jace continued to study Clary, willing her to just look at him. After a moment, she slowly lifted her head and met his gaze. A strange feeling curled in his gut as he realized she had the same look in her eyes. The same one she'd given him in the cafeteria. He furrowed his brow in an attempt to ask her what was wrong. She shook her head minutely and turned away, apparently understanding his expression.

Isabelle clamored up onto the bleachers. "Come on Clary, we'll sit here, close to the team where we can have the best view of all the hotness."

Clary started to move past Jace and follow Isabelle. He reached out and grabbed her wrist lightly.

"Hey."

She still refused to look at him.

He let out a frustrated sigh and spoke in a quiet voice. "We're playing Oak Valley today."

Her head snapped up, eyes wide as she searched the field, her face paleing slightly.

"Clary?"

She swallowed hard, still staring out at the players on the field. Jace looked up and locked eyes with Julian who lifted his chin and smirked in their direction. He felt every muscle in his body tighten. Glancing back down at Clary, he reached out and touched her chin, turning it carefully toward him. As her gaze met his, he leaned down until they were eye-to-eye.

"Don't worry about him. He's not going to come anywhere near you. I promise."

She closed her eyes and nodded. He had the nearly uncontrollable urge to pull her to him and hug her. Another whistle blew, and Coach Daley called all the team members out to the field.

"I've gotta go." He turned back to her. "Just stay with Isabelle, okay?"

She nodded again, giving him a tiny smile before making her way up into the stands and sitting beside Isabelle. Jace watched her go, and once she was settled, made his way out to the field, passing by the Oak Valley team on the way.

"No wonder you're so possessive, Wayland."

Jace stopped abruptly and pivoted toward Julian's voice.

He stood at the edge of his team huddle, his hands crossed over his chest and his lips quirked up into a smile. "Not only do you have one fine piece of ass for a sister, but my fiery red-headed cast off as well. Nice."

Jace's fists clenched at his side. "Are you seriously stupid enough to bait me? Please tell me you are because I would like nothing more than to rearrange that ugly face of yours."

"Ugly?" Julian furrowed his brow and brought his finger up to his chin, tapping it lightly. "Now, that's not what your sister said while she thrust her chest out in offering. Come to think of it, neither did your little girlfriend over there while she—"

Something snapped inside Jace and he lunged forward, grabbing Julian by the jersey and dragging him forward until their noses almost touched. "Until she what?" Jace said, his voice eerily low and quiet. "And I'd think really hard before you answer that."

Suddenly, Jace felt his arms being ripped off Julian's shirt and his body being pulled back a few feet. He struggled against the restraints but they just squeezed tighter. When he looked up, he saw that Julian was also being held back by two of his teammates.

"Jace, what the hell?" one of his teammates hissed in his ear.

"He was talking about my sister and my—" Jace hesitated, not exactly sure what he was going to call Clary, "my neighbor."

"Well, save it for the field."

Jace's chest heaved with pent up anger he just itched to release on that smug bastard. Not only for what he'd already done, but for whatever sick, perverted thoughts he had running through his mind at that moment. Glancing up, he caught sight of Clary and Isabelle. Both stared at him, their eyes wide and their mouths open. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed in deeply.

"Fine." He jerked his arms out of his teammates hold and went to follow them back to the sideline.

"See you on the field, Wayland." Julian's mocking voice called out behind him.

Jace stopped, pulled his shoulders tight, and turned his head to toward him. "You better pray I don't ever see you off this field. Because if I do, there won't be anyone there that will be able to pull me off you." He pivoted back to his team and made it to the sideline just as Coach called positions. Allowing his gaze to wander, he found Clary once more. This time, she didn't avoid him. She met his stare straight on with a glint of awe in her eyes and a faint smile on her lips.


	12. Breaking the Surface

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

* * *

_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

* * *

_**Chapter 12: Breaking the Surface**_

_Chapter songs: _

_Head Over Feet - Alanis Morrisette _

_Girlfriend - Avril Lavigne _

_Everywhere - Michelle Branch _

_Bad Romance - Lady GaGa *Lyrics to Bad Romance owned by Lady Gaga_

_Everything - Lifehouse_

_Your Guardian Angel - The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus **Lyrics to Your Guardian Angel owned by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus_

* * *

If Clary could go back and get a do-over for Tuesday, she would.

It started out all right. She'd laughed to herself all morning, feeling the sharp corners of the "gift" she'd made for Jace jabbing into her thigh. When she'd given him the tiny white box with the bell inside, she'd turned away quickly, slightly embarrassed and slightly impressed with herself for actually doing it. She bet no other girl had given him something like that before. It was their little inside joke, and she liked that. Having something that was just theirs felt . . . private, or even—dare she think, intimate. Maybe it was stupid to think of it that way, but it's all she had, so she'd take it.

Morning classes passed quickly enough considering she hated Algebra and History with the fiery passion of a thousand hells. Regardless, she finally felt good, happy, for once. It had been such a long time since she'd let herself feel that way. She'd actually been in a pretty good mood, as evidenced by how she'd almost skipped into the lunchroom.

Simon led her to the same table they'd occupied the day before and snatched her lunch sack before she'd even had a chance to give him the sandwich she'd made for him. With a snicker, she reached over and grabbed the apple that slipped out of the bag before it rolled off the table. Isabelle plopped down shortly after they arrived, going on and on about the dance on Friday. Clary rolled her eyes, not really all that interested in what everyone was wearing and who they were taking. Her mind was absorbed with the pretty golden-haired boy across the room. She watched under her lashes as he picked at his food, seemingly bored out of his mind. Though she couldn't imagine how since the school's biggest bimbo, Kaelie, had herself plastered all over his arm. She thought boys liked that kind of attention. Not that she minded that he seemed slightly put-off by it. What she wouldn't give to walk over there, pull Kaelie's perfect blond hair, and slap her pristinely decorated face until she withdrew her claws from Jace. Total cat fight, she knew, but it would feel awesome.

"God, would you look at that skankaliscious bimbo," Isabelle said, her lips curled up in disgust and her eyes turned in Jace's direction.

Clary pretended she had no idea who Isabelle meant. "Who?"

Isabelle cocked her thumb over her shoulder. "That skank wrapped all over my brother."

Clary's heart squeezed a bit as she forced herself to full-on look. Unable to form a coherent response through the lump in her throat, she pushed out a snort. It was the best she could do since she felt like spewing at the sight.

"I mean, really, Jace is decent looking, he could do better than ho-bags like that."

_Decent looking?_ _What about hot? Gorgeous? Totally lickaliscious?_ Clary immediately felt her cheeks heat, hoping to God Simon and Isabelle wouldn't notice, and eternally grateful for the privacy of inner monologue. Lickaliscious? What did that even mean? She snuck a peek at him again. _Oh yeah, totally lickable._ And then she felt her face flame again. She'd never even kissed a boy and now she was thinking about licking one?

Simon peered over at Jace's table. Shoving the last of the sandwich in his mouth, he chewed for a moment before saying, "He doesn't look all that thrilled with her."

Clary's heart jumped at Simon's observation, which only validated her own thoughts on the same thing.

"Jace never looks thrilled about anything." Isabelle snorted. "Believe me. He's just as big of a pig as the rest of you."

"Hey!" Simon protested. "I'll have you know I'm quite the gentleman."

"Geek." Clary fake-coughed in her hand. "Nerd."

Simon rolled his eyes before turning away and absorbing himself in a bag of sour cream and onion chips.

Clary laughed just as she felt a soft tap on her shoulder. She turned to find Sebastian smiling down at her.

"Hey, Clary."

"Hey Sebastian." Clary felt the sharp toe of Isabelle's designer shoe dig into her shin. She fought against the urge to kick her back.

"How's the second day of school treating you?" He balanced his lunch tray in one hand and held the back of her chair with the other. The look on his face made her cheeks grow warm.

"Oh, okay, I guess. I managed to survive Foster's and Hannigan's lessons, so I'm putting this day in the win column."

Sebastian laughed and reached forward, brushing his fingers under a stray curl that had found its way into Clary's face. He tucked it behind her ear carefully.

Isabelle jabbed her again. This time Clary retaliated.

"Ow!" Isabelle said under her breath.

Sebastian leaned down and whispered in her ear, "You look really nice today, Clary."

She smiled and her cheeks burned even hotter than before, but not in a way that meant she liked it. Something about the way he said it made her uncomfortable. Maybe it was just because she knew him so well seeing as he was her brother's best friend. "Thanks."

"Um," Sebastian started. "I was thinking—well, maybe—if you wanted—we could—"

A high pitched squeal tore Clary's attention away from Sebastian and her gaze followed the sound, landing on Kaelie just as she grabbed Jace's face and crashed her mouth onto his.

Clary gasped involuntarily and shot out of her seat, accidentally knocking into Sebastian, causing his tray to flip over, and coating his shirt with macaroni and cheese. Tears filled her eyes, not because she'd covered Sebastian in his lunch, but because she felt like such an idiot for letting herself dwell on this little crush she had forming on Jace. And for letting something like Kaelie smearing her spit all over him bother her. They were friends. She knew that's all it was. So why did it feel like her heart had been ripped out, crushed underneath the tires of an eighteen wheeler, and ground up in a blender? Pathetic.

"Sebastian," she said through her tears, trying as hard as she could to force them back and not look like such a loser. "I—I'm so sorry!" Picking up one of the insanely small, square, white napkins, she started dabbing his shirt, only managing to smear the gloppy mess further.

"Clary, it's fine. I can clean it off in the bathroom. Don't worry about it."

She shook her head, the tears coming faster and ticking her off something fierce. "No. I—I can clean it. I just need more napkins." She turned back to the table, frantically looking for more to help wipe him up.

Sebastian reached out and took her wrists in his hand. She looked up. He shook his head and said, "Really. It's okay. I can do it."

Clary suddenly became aware of the silence surrounding her. Slowly, she turned her gaze, passing over every head turned in her direction and landing on the only person in the entire room she cared whether or not was looking at her. She met his golden eyes, saw the strange expression in them, and felt her throat constrict with another sob. After muttering another quick apology to Sebastian, she whipped around and ran as fast as she could out of the lunchroom and into the nearest girls' bathroom.

Once inside and away from the probing eyes of the rest of the student body, she shuffled over to the sink and splashed a few handfuls of cold water on her overheated cheeks. Glancing at her reflection in the mirror, she took stock of her puffy, red eyes and blotchy skin. She hung her head and let out a pathetic laugh, which quickly turned to more sobs.

God she hated being like this and letting her emotions get the best of her. Leaning up against the wall next to the sinks, she slid down the cold tile until she sat in a heap on the floor. She covered her face with her hands and cried while internally battling with herself to grow up and quit behaving like such a baby.

With each fresh wave of tears, she scolded herself even more. For wanting the one person she knew she couldn't have. For breaking down in front of the entire school. For being stupid enough to allow herself to even look at him that way. To even consider the possibility that maybe one day, he'd look at her that way too.

She couldn't deny the fact that she wanted Jace Wayland. Wanted him in a way she really shouldn't. As stupid and impossible as it was, she did. She'd tried so hard to push it away, to remind herself that they were just friends. To try and make her feelings just disappear. But as evidenced by her reaction to him kissing another girl, she could tell that that was much easier to say than do.

.o.O.o.

More than anything, Clary just wanted to go home. She didn't know if she could handle seeing Jace so soon after her little emotional meltdown at lunch. It wasn't his fault, and she wasn't angry with him for any of it. How could she even think to hold him accountable for something he didn't even know he was capable of making her feel? She couldn't. Her own stupidity put her in this position and she knew she just had to suck it up and deal with it. But, God, if her chest didn't feel like it might implode at any second the closer she got to the soccer fields.

She really didn't want to go to the scrimmage, but she'd promised Isabelle she would. And she wanted to support Jace—even though he'd never asked her to. They were friends. That's what friends did. Maybe if she kept repeating that over and over in her mind her heart would finally get the message.

Just friends. Just friends. Just friends.

Unfortunately, the only thing her heart saw was Kaelie trying to suffocate Jace under her big, fat, red lips. Now all she wanted was to go home, grab a bag of chocolate chips, and lay in her bed drowning herself in gooey chocolately goodness. Yeah, she was totally acting like a girl, but at that moment, she just couldn't make herself care. She just wanted to feel better, and if gorging herself on cocoa beans and sugar helped, well, she had no qualms about doing it.

As she rounded the back of the bleachers, she caught sight of Jace and Isabelle. By his stiff stance and Isabelle's irritated face, it looked like they were in the middle of an argument.

"All right. But you're going to explain later, right?" Clary overheard Isabelle say as she drew closer.

"What I can, yes," Jace said.

Hmm, maybe she was wrong. It didn't sound like they were arguing. Clary walked up behind them. "What's going on?"

Jace turned around.

Feeling dumb about the lunch scene earlier, Clary fought against the insanely strong pull to meet his gaze, and kept her eyes on the stands behind him. God, she wanted to look at him so bad.

"Oh nothing." Isabelle moved until she stood next to him. "Jace is just being his royal asseyness again." She shrugged. "Nothing unusual about that."

Clary felt Jace's stare burning into her, begging her to give in and look. Unable to resist a moment longer, she peered up at him, meeting his eyes. Her chest tightened, as she pushed back the urge to cry again. God, she felt like such a pathetic loser. His brow furrowed. She knew he sensed something was wrong with her. In an effort to dispel his concern she shook her head slightly, hoping that would stop him from probing further. She didn't know if she could trust herself not to start bawling again.

"Come on, Clary, we'll sit here, close to the team where we can have the best view of all the hotness." Isabelle climbed onto the bleachers, sitting four rows up.

She forced herself to move and started around Jace when his hand shot out and grabbed her around the wrist. His touch burned her skin in the most delicious way.

"Hey," he said.

She kept her eyes focused on anything but him, knowing that the combination of his hand on her and looking into his face would definitely be her undoing.

"We're playing Oak Valley today," he said in a quiet yet strangely frustrated voice.

Panic flooded into her chest. She snapped her head up and immediately spotted Julian near the outside of his team's huddle. He lifted his head and smirked at her.

"Clary?" Jace said.

She swallowed against the bile rising in her throat. As she stared out at Julian, she felt Jace's fingers run across her chin, tugging lightly. She held back a shiver and turned to meet his gaze once more. Her heart skipped in her chest as he leaned down closer to her.

"Don't worry about him. He's not going to come anywhere near you. I promise."

She closed her eyes and nodded. He was so incredibly close to her; she could barely stand the few inches between them. A whistle blew in the distance and one of the coaches called for all of the Maple Ridge players to gather on the field. Jace turned toward the sound.

"I have to go." He looked back at her. "Just stay with Isabelle, okay?"

She nodded again, forcing herself to give him a tiny smile before climbing up onto the bleachers with Isabelle.

"Sorry about that. Jace is acting all weird," Isabelle said.

Clary dragged her gaze away from his retreating form and looked at Isabelle. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. He totally freaked out when he saw me talking to—oh hell."

"What?" Clary followed Isabelle's stare out to the field, spotting Jace and Julian standing only a few feet apart, facing each other.

"You see." Isabelle raised her hand palm up and then let it fall in her lap. "He's being such an ass. All that guy did was flirt with me."

Clary wanted to let Isabelle in on what she knew about Julian, but didn't want to expose the fact that she'd been talking to Jace. So, she watched as Jace and Julian glared at each other instead. Julian said something, his face arrogant and taunting. Jace, who stood a couple inches taller than Julian, tensed and clenched his jaw. For the life of her, Clary couldn't understand why Julian didn't look more afraid. Jace was bigger and infinitely more pissed, but from what she remembered of Julian, he was sort of a cocky jerk, so it probably shouldn't have surprised her. Julian spoke again and Jace lunged forward, grabbing Julian's jersey with both hands and yanking him forward. Both girls gasped in surprise just as members from both teams pulled the boys apart.

"God, he's such a hothead," Isabelle said.

Clary followed Jace's retreat back to the sideline, noticing the stiff set of his shoulders as he moved away from Julian. She could tell it killed him to walk away. Just before the team lined up on the field, Jace turned back to her and met her eyes. She gave him a small smile, trying to convey she saw what had happened and understood. In fact, a part of her loved that he'd stood up to Julian. Whether it had been because of Julian flirting with Isabelle or if it had been due to what she'd told him the night before, she didn't care. Though a part of her figured it was probably a little of both. He nodded once and ran out to the field, taking his spot at center.

To anyone else watching, it would have seemed like any other soccer game. Passes were completed and missed, goals attempted and scored, penalties called and challenged. Nothing out of the ordinary. Only those who knew what to look for would have noticed the heightened animosity between Oak Valley's left midfielder and Maple Ridge's center forward.

Clary didn't miss any of it. Julian stayed on Jace the entire game, pushing into him and taking sweeps at his feet as he dribbled up and down the field. Several times, when the ref's attention was elsewhere, he'd even jab his elbow into Jace's side. Jace retaliated once by slamming his shoulder into Julian's chest hard, earning himself a yellow card, and causing Julian to fall over gasping for breath. Jace didn't seem to mind the penalty as he walked to the sideline with a smug grin on his face. Clary couldn't help smiling to herself.

"Hey, do you want something to drink?" Isabelle asked as the first half was called.

"Sure."

"Okay, save our seats so the skank patrol doesn't steal them." She rolled her eyes and jerked her head to the side before jumping down and moving toward the concession stand.

Clary followed Isabelle's head jerk, spotting Kaelie and the rest of her gang of cheerleader-types making their way over to the bleachers. She groaned, really not wanting to watch her fall all over Jace again. She had half a mind to get up and leave as Kaelie plopped down two bleachers in front of her.

A swell of jealousy mixed with anger built inside her. She wanted to reach forward and grab a couple fistfuls of her bleached blond hair. God, what was her problem? She'd never had violent tendencies before.

"Here." Isabelle stood at the side of the bleachers holding two Styrofoam cups out to Clary.

Clary took them and raised one brow at Isabelle, waiting for her to climb back up.

"I gotta pee." She fidgeted. "I'll be back in a sec!"

Clary laughed. "Okay." She set the drinks on the empty bleacher in front of her and tried to focus on what was happening on the field. Unfortunately, her concentration was broken by Kaelie's incessant blathering.

"I don't know. I can't decide which dress to wear." Kaelie flipped a chunk of hair over her shoulder. "I have the super tight black one. But then I have the short red one—I look really good in red."

Clary rolled her eyes, revisiting her earlier idea of pulling Kaelie's hair out by the roots.

"Kaelie, he's a guy. As long as it shows off your body, you're golden. He won't be able to resist coping a feel." The dark haired girl next to Kaelie laughed.

Kaelie joined in, sounding surprisingly like one of the hyenas from the local zoo. Clary wondered briefly if they were missing one.

"So true," Kaelie said. "Or maybe wearing nothing would be a better choice?" She squealed, and Clary puked a little in her mouth.

"Maybe by the end of the night," The girl on the other side of Kaelie said, and wiggled her brows.

Heat spread from Clary's chest up to her face.

The dark haired girl looked out to the field and sighed. "He certainly is one hot piece of manlyness, girl."

"I know, right?" Kaelie said. "I'm so freaking thrilled I get bragging rights to being the first here to get a piece of _that_."

Finally, Clary's resolve broke. She couldn't listen to another second of that skank talk about Jace like that. Picking up the two cups of soda from the bench, she pretended to trip, pitching forward and dumping the contents of both right on Kaelie's head, the brown liquid flowing from the crown of her too blonde hair, down the collar of her jacket, and soaking the butt of her jeans. Kaelie jumped up with a screech and whirled around.

Clary fought to control her expression and lifted her brows in apologetic surprise. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry!"

"You—you—_freak_!" Kaelie screamed, shaking her head and spraying her friends with Cherry Pepsi. Clary couldn't help but compare the image to that of her neighbor's dog after a jump in the pool.

"I'm so sorry! I tripped." She kept up her remorseful act. "Let me go get some napkins. I feel horrible."

"Arg! I don't need anything from you, idiot!" Kaelie pushed the dark haired girl beside her toward the end of the bleachers, causing her to stumble and almost fall into the people in front of her. "Move your ass!"

Clary watched her stomp away and finally allowed a laugh to escape from her throat. She glanced up as she snickered, catching Jace's eye from the sideline while the coach called for a substitution. He raised his brows in question, but his lips were definitely pulled up into an amused smirk. Clary wiped her face clean of her own smile and looked away innocently.

Isabelle returned, glancing behind her to toward the bathrooms. "What happened to the plastic princess and her hussies?"

Clary folded her hands in front of her and sat slowly. "I may have accidentally-on-purpose spilled our drinks on her head."

Isabelle's mouth dropped open and her eyes darkened.

For a moment, Clary thought she was angry with her, or possibly even suspicious about why Clary would do something like that, but then she said, "Why the hell didn't you wait for me? I would have given my third favorite pair of spike heels to see that."

Clary laughed and patted the empty space next to her before turning back to watch the rest of the game, feeling a ton better already. Maybe the day wasn't a total loss after all.

.o.O.o.

"Clary, hold still," Isabelle said. "I'm going to burn you if you don't."

Clary let out a deep sigh. "My hair's curly enough, Isabelle."

Isabelle stepped back, held the curling iron up in one hand, and glared at Clary through the mirror. "But this will make them big and soft. Trust me, you're going to look fabulous."

Clary settled back into the chair and let Isabelle have her way. "Whatever." It wasn't like she cared. The only person she wanted looking at her was going with someone else, would be holding someone else. She closed her eyes against the image, trying to steel herself against the fact that she'd have to witness it front and center.

The past three days had been nearly torturous as Friday drew nearer. Isabelle talked nonstop about the dance, her dress, and all the "hot guys" she was going to dazzle there. Several boys had asked her to go with them, but she'd ultimately denied them all, saying she was already committed to a group thing—but she'd save a dance for each of them. From the sounds of things, she'd be occupied most of the evening.

Clary, on the other hand, tried her hardest to avoid being asked at all. She had a feeling Sebastian wanted to go with her, but she just couldn't go with anyone else. It felt wrong, somehow, going with someone she didn't want to be with. Maybe she was just too kind hearted, but she didn't want to lead anyone on when she knew she didn't feel that way about them. Sebastian was a nice guy and she didn't want to give him the wrong idea. So, she avoided him.

She also kept her distance from Jace. Not because she didn't want to be near him, but because she did, and she feared he'd see right through her and figure out how she felt about him. He had the uncanny ability to know what she was feeling—sometimes before she did. It wasn't too hard to avoid him since he had practice every day. She figured he probably didn't even notice she'd been hanging around less lately. He had better things—and people, apparently—to think about.

"Clary, would you stop frowning. You'll make your foundation crack."

"Sorry." She let out a slow breath and concentrated on removing the misery from her face.

Isabelle sighed and put the curling iron down on her cluttered vanity. "What's wrong? You've been acting weird all week."

"Nothing," she lied.

"Come on." Isabelle bent down so Clary couldn't escape her gaze. "Is it about a guy? That Sebastian?"

Clary scowled. "No. Nothing's wrong, Izzy."

Isabelle straightened up. "Fine. You don't have to tell me, but quit being a party pooper before you bring the rest of us down with you."

"Sorry. I'm just tired, okay?"

"Uh huh."

Clary could tell Isabelle didn't believe her, and why would she? Clary knew what a terrible liar she was. But there was no way she was telling Isabelle that there was, in fact, a guy behind her solemn demeanor. And he slept just across the hall.

"There," Isabelle said as she stood back and admired her work.

Clary turned to the mirror and took in the large, soft curls framing her face and falling lightly to her shoulders, just brushing the tops. Her eyes widened. She didn't even look like herself. Isabelle stepped forward and swept them up in a loose twist at the back of Clary's head, securing them with a clip. A few curls hung loose at her temples.

"How about a little blush and lip gloss?" Isabelle asked.

Clary shrugged her shoulders as Isabelle opened a small case and pulled out a tube of pink gloss and some blush.

"This will only accentuate, not cover up. You have pretty coloring all by yourself." She feathered the bristles across Clary's cheekbones and then swiped the gloss applicator over her lips. "Okay. All done." She stood up straight, walked over to her closet door and opened it, revealing a full length mirror on the other side. "Come check it out."

Clary rose slowly from her seat and made her way over to stand next to Isabelle. Her eyes followed her form from the pile of red-curls on top of her head, to the skinny spaghetti straps at her shoulders, over the lines of the thin, white silk dress that ended just at her ankles, all the way to the white ballet flats on her feet.

"It's good, right?" Isabelle asked, excitement flooding her voice.

Clary turned to her, taking in Isabelle's form fitting, one shouldered, thigh-length blue dress and matching stilettos. Her black hair hung straight across her back while tiny, sparkling clips held the sides away from her face. "It's good," she agreed.

"Good." Isabelle grabbed her purse from the bed and started toward the door. "Oh, shoot! Go on, I need to get my camera."

"Okay. I'll meet you downstairs."

Isabelle nodded and rushed over to her desk, frantically looking for her slim-line camera.

Clary shook her head, smiled, and exited into the hallway. Just as she reached the top of the stairs, she heard the door open behind her. Figuring it was Isabelle, she turned only to nearly smack into Jace.

He stopped abruptly in front of her, his eyes traveling slowly from her head to her toes. Unable to help herself, Clary swallowed and did the same to him. She'd never seen him dressed that way before. He wore a white, long-sleeved button up shirt with tiny light-blue vertical pinstripes and the top two buttons left open, dark washed jeans, and a pair of black boots. Her mouth dropped open against her will and she had to force it closed before she met his eyes.

"Found it!" Isabelle called as she stepped out into the hall and stood beside Clary.

Clary let out a breath of relief.

"Oh hey, Jace." Isabelle paused. "Wait a second. Who are you and what have you done with my fashion challenged brother?" She looked him over. "You actually look half-ways decent—nice even."

"And you don't look _too_ easy or anything," he said.

Isabelle narrowed her eyes. "Ha-ha." Then she turned to Clary. "So, what do you think Jace? Doesn't our girl look nice?"

His eyes slowly found Clary's once more and she swore her heart was about to leap out of her chest. "Nice," he said the word almost as a question and his voice came out quiet and slightly rough. "Yes. Very nice. Although . . ." He hesitantly stepped closer to her, causing Clary to hold her breath. His eyes never left hers as he lifted his arm and gently removed the clip from her hair. Curls cascaded down, flowing over her back and shoulders, brushing her bare skin and causing goosebumps to form on her flesh. He let out a barely discernible uneven breath and moved back.

Isabelle furrowed her brows and raised her hand to cup her chin. "You're right. That is better."

Clary couldn't remove her gaze from his no matter how much she knew she should. The only thing that finally allowed her to break her stare was the sound of the doorbell as it sliced through the thick air.

"Oh! That's probably Simon!" Isabelle rushed past Clary and Jace, bounding down the stairs.

"I don't understand how she can run in those things without breaking her ankle," Jace said.

Clary snorted, and then felt her face flush with embarrassment for making such a stupid sound.

Jace glanced down at her and grinned. "Ready?" He gestured to the stairs.

She nodded and started down, Jace following behind her.

"Jace!" Isabelle called. "Your skan—uh—date is here."

Clary fought back a giggle at Isabelle's "slip-up" as she and Jace reached the bottom of the stairs.

Kaelie looked up at her and narrowed her eyes. "You! What are you doing here?" She thrust her hands on her hips. Her bright red dress barely reached mid-thigh and her six inch heels made her legs look a mile long.

"Nice to see you, too, Kaelie," Clary said, trying her best to sound calm and force herself not to latch onto Jace's arm and scream "Mine!" in Kaelie's face. She didn't figure that would go over too well. "I'm riding with Isabelle."

Finally, Kaelie seemed to realize Jace stood behind Clary and a large smile spread across her red lips. "Hello there, handsome."

Isabelle made a gagging sound and grabbed Clary by the arm. "I think that's our cue to leave." Simon pulled up in front of the house at the same moment. "Saved by the geek! Come on Clary."

Clary turned to Jace for a moment, and surprisingly, he didn't look all that pleased. "See you later, Jace."

He nodded, his eyes piercing into her and making her stomach flip. "Bye, Clary."

She swallowed and reluctantly turned to Kaelie. "Have fun." _But not too much skank!_ Wow, she almost sounded like Isabelle.

"I plan to." Kaelie smiled widely.

Clary nearly vomited on Kaelie's trampy red stilettos.

.o.O.o.

Clary kept silent almost the whole way to the school. Simon and Isabelle chatted about anything and everything, but only after she got her jabs in at him for wearing a band t-shirt to a dance. He defended himself by saying he didn't feel the need to conform to social standards. Isabelle scoffed and called him a geek. He seemed to take that as an affectionate gesture and sported a huge grin the entire way.

Cheesy black and white streamers, white gauzy fabric, and confetti decorated the gym. Clary felt sorry for whoever had to clean up the mess. On the stage where the slideshow had been set up earlier that week, sat a DJ with all his lights and equipment. Large speakers lined the stage and surrounded the designated dance floor. The music boomed and the lights twirled, throwing red, purple, yellow, and white orbs all over the floor and walls. People already occupied the dance floor, swaying and gyrating to the music.

Clary, Isabelle, and Simon filed in, surveying the area.

"Not bad," Simon said.

A new song started and Isabelle's eyes grew wide. She grabbed Clary's arm and whirled toward her. "I love this song! Let's go dance."

Clary laughed and followed Isabelle out onto the dance floor, dragging Simon with her. If she had to suffer, so did he.

They twirled and swayed to the beat, while Isabelle sang the lyrics loudly.

_*I want your love and I want your revenge. You and me could write a bad romance._

They giggled together and Clary let her gaze sweep the crowd. She spotted Sebastian standing with a group of soccer players near the stage. He raised his chin in greeting and she waved in return. Just then, she saw Jace come in with Kaelie. She bounced at his side. He barely looked at her, keeping his hands thrust deep in his pockets. Grabbing his arm, Kaelie dragged him over to her friends who stood near Sebastian. She threaded her arm through his and around his waist, pulling him tighter against her. Clary closed her eyes and turned away, concentrating on having the best time she could with her friends and not thinking about how much she wanted to break that arm wrapped around him.

Isabelle still belted the lyrics and Clary decided to join her. To just abandon her angst for one night and let it all out.

_I want your love and I want your revenge. I want your love. I don't wanna be friends._

Clary kept her eyes closed and repeated the mantra over and over, realizing it had never been more true than at that moment.

_I don't wanna be friends. I don't wanna be friends. I don't wanna be friends._

Trying her hardest to ignore the overwhelming sensation to seek Jace out in the crowd, Clary spent the next hour dancing and singing with Simon and Isabelle. She actually had a good time just hanging out. She told herself she needed to do this more. Needed time with her friends, away from all the internal things she dealt with on a daily basis.

As they made their way off the dance floor, laughing and gasping for breath, Sebastian caught up with them.

"Hey, Clary."

"Hey, Sebastian." She smiled up at him.

"So," he glanced down at her nervously, "you promised me a dance?"

"Sure." She felt bad for not reciprocating the interest he was showing her. It would have been so much easier if she could.

He smiled and held out his hand. She took it and followed him back out to the dance floor. He slipped his arm loosely around her waist and held her right hand in his. Clary couldn't shrug off the unease she felt. Being there, with him, didn't feel right.

"Are you having fun?" Sebastian asked her.

Clary nodded. "Yes. Simon and Isabelle are a riot."

"I'm glad." He smiled. "It's nice to see you smile again."

She let out an uneasy breath and moved her gaze from his, peering out over the crowd. She spotted Kaelie, but didn't see Jace with her. Craning her neck, she searched the room, but he didn't seem to be anywhere. She furrowed her brow and whipped her head in the opposite direction.

"What's wrong?" Sebastian asked.

"What?" She focused on him once more. "Oh, nothing. I was—just looking for someone."

"Well, Isabelle and Simon are over there." He used their clasped hands to point over to the refreshment table.

Clary followed his direction, finding Simon and Isabelle standing next to none other than Jace. He met her gaze and looked less than thrilled. She wondered what was wrong with him. Suddenly, she couldn't wait for the song to be over. To not be dancing with Sebastian. She felt horrible for feeling that way, but she couldn't help it. It felt uncomfortable to be in his arms.

When the song ended, she realized he hadn't released her, and had actually drawn her closer to him. As nonchalantly as she could she pulled back, untangling herself from his grasp.

She looked up and smiled. "Thanks for the dance."

He looked like he wanted to say something, and she was afraid he'd ask her for another dance, so she interrupted him.

"I better get back. See you later, Sebastian." She spun on her heel and fought her way through the crowd, toward where she'd seen Simon, Isabelle, and Jace.

When she emerged, she couldn't help the disappointment she felt when Jace wasn't with them.

"Hey," she said. "I thought I saw Jace with you."

"Yeah." Isabelle bit down on a speared pineapple. "He just left to go—somewhere. He's cranky."

"Why would he be cranky?"

Isabelle shrugged, throwing the used toothpick in the trashcan. "Why wouldn't he be? I can't keep up with his mood swings." She turned to Clary. "So, how was it?"

"How was what?" she asked distractedly.

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "The dance with McHottie."

"Oh. It was fine."

"Fine?"

"Yup."

Isabelle sighed. "I don't get you, Clary. He's hot. He wants you. What's the deal?"

"I don't know. I just don't see him like that, I guess."

"You're crazy." Her eyes lit up as another upbeat song started. "Oh! I love this song too. Let's dance!"

Clary held up her hands. "I need a breather. You two go on."

"Okay. Come on, Lewis." She started toward the dance floor.

Simon turned to Clary, a goofy grin on his face. "I love her."

Clary laughed. "Yeah, I know. Go get her, Tiger."

He ran off after Isabelle. Clary moved back to the corner of the gym near the performance stage, and stood in front of its dark heavy curtains. She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. She'd almost made it through the dance without seeing much of Kaelie and Jace. Of course, she'd been trying extremely hard not to focus on or look for them. She stood there for a few moments, her eyes still closed, before she heard a soft tinkling in her ear. Pinching her brows together, she turned toward the sound and opened her eyes. Hanging next to her head was a tiny silver bell on a red ribbon. She smiled and reached up, taking it in her hand.

Jace stepped up next to her.

She stared down at the bell in her hand, a pressure gathering in her throat. "You brought this?" She finally looked up at him.

He stared out at the crowd for a moment before shrugging and glancing down at her, his mouth lifted in a half-grin. "I always have it with me. I never know when I'll need to _not_ surprise you."

Her breath caught and she lowered her gaze to the bell once more, closing her fist around it tightly. "So, what are you doing over here?"

"Hiding." He smiled.

"From who?"

"My date."

Clary whipped around to face him. "What? Why?"

He scrunched his nose and shrugged again. "She's getting on my nerves."

Clary laughed. "That's not very nice. If she annoys you so much, why'd you ask her?"

He raised his brows and looked at her. "I didn't ask her. She asked me and I accidentally said yes."

"How can you 'accidentally say yes' to someone?"

"Well, it's actually quite easy when you can't stand the sound of their voice and aren't listening to a word they're saying."

Clary started to ask him why he didn't just clear up the misunderstanding and tell Kaelie no, when he said, "Oh hell," and slipped behind the heavy performance curtain.

"Jace? What the—" she started just as his hand shot out and yanked her behind the curtain with him, his finger covering her lips.

"Shh," he said, his breath flowing across her face, causing her own to hitch.

"I could have sworn I saw him over here, Kaelie." A voice on the other side of the curtain said. "He's around here somewhere. Let's check over by the bathrooms."

Clary heard a frustrated sigh.

"Well hurry up, then. God! I want to dance," Kaelie said.

She felt Jace chuckle and realized he was holding her up against him.

After a moment, she forced herself to pull away. "So you're hiding from a girl? Real mature, Jace."

"I know, what can I say, she's kinda scary and I'm not really into scary women."

Clary laughed. "I could have told you that."

An easy silence fell over them as they stood in the dark, listening to the music from the other side of the curtain. As always, Clary felt completely comfortable with him, not needing words to make things bearable. Just being near him was enough.

After a few minutes, he spoke again. "You probably want to get back out there."

"Nope. I'm good." She paused. "Why? Do you want to go back out there?"

"Um, no. Not even the littlest bit."

"Well, don't you want to dance? That's what you're supposed to do at one of these things, after all."

He didn't look at her and after a moment spoke quietly, "There's no one out there I want to dance with."

A chill raced up her spine. "Oh." She heard him suck in a breath.

"But," his arm just barely brushed against hers, making gooseflesh rise on her skin, "I wouldn't mind dancing with you."

Her breath caught in her throat as she felt his fingers lightly trail across hers and wrap around her hand. She swallowed hard before letting out a shaky breath and turning toward him. Slowly, she looked up, meeting his eyes. "Okay." The word came out as a big gush of air.

He glanced down at their clasped hands and hesitantly pulled her closer. She took a step forward and raised her other hand, laying it lightly on his arm. Her heart hammered against her ribcage with each inch that closed between them. The tension she always felt when around him swelled and threatened to burst as he wrapped his arm around her waist, his hand splaying across the small of her back. Heat spread from that point throughout her body, nearly making her shiver against the sensation. Her hand slid up his arm, tracing the ridges of his forearm and bicep before resting comfortably at his shoulder. Closing her eyes, she leaned into him, allowing her body to fit flush against his.

Jace raised their hands to his chest, held them against it, and pulled her tighter. She leaned her forehead against him as they moved together, marveling in how right it felt to be in his arms. The awkwardness she'd felt dancing with Sebastian was nonexistent with Jace. He felt right pressed up against her. A perfect fit.

After a moment, Clary felt his grip on her hand loosen and move to her back. She opened her palm against his chest, trailing it up slightly to the open portion of his shirt and grasped it in her fist, wanting to hold him there as long as she could. He didn't protest and lowered his face to her head, his lips resting against her. She felt his warm breath mingle with her hair. Neither of them spoke, neither pulled away. They just clung to each other, moving to the music behind the heavy curtain in the dark. It was different from the time they'd danced at Pandora. That time had been a show to ward off unwanted advances. This time it was just them. No one else could see, no one else knew.

Clary heard the music slow to an end, but she didn't want to let go. Not yet. Maybe not ever. She tightened her hold on his shirt and his shoulder. He didn't move to release her even when the music stopped entirely. It wasn't until the DJ announced the dance over and the lights snapped on over their heads that either of them stirred.

"Clary," Jace said.

She still had her eyes closed when she murmured, "Hmm."

"The dance is over. It's time to go."

"What?" She finally opened her eyes, blinking against the sudden brightness surrounding them. Looking up, she met his gaze and realized she was still clinging tightly to him. Her hand still clutched his shirt. "Oh." She pulled back, her face flooding with heat. "Sorry."

"It's all right." He smiled and then looked down at his shirt. "Though I will say this shirt has seen better days."

If it were possible, her face felt even hotter.

"Come on. Isabelle is probably looking for you."

"And your date for you," Clary said.

He grimaced. "Oh yeah."

"You're a horrible date, Jace Wayland."

He turned back and flashed a smile before holding the curtain aside and gesturing for her to exit before him. She ducked under his arm with a grin, her body vibrating with the memory of his touch and the scent of him still clinging to her skin.

.o.O.o.

Clary lay awake staring at the ceiling as Isabelle snored lightly beside her. Not a single cell in her body felt tired after the night she'd had. She could still feel Jace's arms around her, his breath against her hair, and his chest rise and fall with each one. If it was possible, she would have stayed there for the rest of her life, just holding him and listening to the steady beat of his heart. God, how she wished she could tell him. That he could feel the same about her.

She raised her hands to her face and rubbed lightly, knowing she needed to get her mind off from him. Off from what she wished would happen and face the reality of the situation. They were friends. Plain and simple. Truth be told, she would take that over nothing. Although everyday it became clearer and clearer that her feelings had long since left friendshipville. She wondered how long it would take for him to see through her.

With a sigh, she sat up at the edge of the bed and then stood. She needed a drink and her hair was annoying her, so she quietly tip-toed out the door and to the bathroom. Once inside she turned on the light, grabbed her hair in one hand and leaned under the faucet. When she finished, she grabbed a couple of hair ties, parted her hair, and braided each side quickly. A few stray curls hung at her temples but other than that, the mess was contained.

Turning off the light, she exited the bathroom backwards, yelping when her body collided with someone else.

A hand covered her mouth, and a whispered voice said, "Shh, Clary. It's just me."

After a moment, her heart slowed and she was able to speak. "Jace. Where's your bell? You almost gave me a heart attack!"

He chuckled. "Well, I didn't expect to have to use it this late."

She held a hand against her chest as her ragged breathing subsided.

"What are you doing up anyway?" he asked.

"Couldn't sleep. You?"

"Same. Actually, I was playing but then I got hungry." He held up an apple in his hand.

"Oh." She frowned. "Don't your parents get mad at you playing so late?"

He shrugged. "They're used to it. Plus, I try to block the sound as much as I can."

She glanced up at him, his face mostly in shadows, the only light coming from a nightlight in the hall. "Are you going to play some more?"

"Probably."

"Oh." She looked down at her feet. "Do you—do you mind if I, you know, listen?"

"No. I don't mind." He stepped across the hall to his room, opening the door and letting the light spill out. "Come on." He nodded to the opening.

Biting her lip, Clary moved in front of him and crossed the threshold into his room. She hadn't been in there since the day he'd moved in. The walls were still white and mostly bare. He had a few shelves for books, but there were no photos and no awards. She distinctly remembered trophies falling out of the box she'd made him drop.

"Where are your trophies?"

The door clicked shut behind her and she turned toward it. Jace stood in front of it, wearing a black pair of pajama pants and a form-fitting white tank top. For the first time ever she could see his entire arms and shoulders. She swallowed hard against the rush of heat flooding her body.

"In the closet." He shrugged. "I don't put them out."

"Why not?"

"I don't like clutter."

She snorted. "Then you better not ever come in my room. It's a total pigsty."

He smiled and walked past her toward the bed where his guitar lay and several CD's were fanned out on the floor beside it. She moved across the room with him.

"So what were you going to play?"

"I don't know." He reached up and scratched the back of his head, peering over at her. "Any requests?"

She raised her brows. "Really?"

He nodded, gestured to the CD's on the floor, and sat on the edge of the bed. "Pick one."

Clary knelt down next to the cases and fingered them carefully. "Do you know all of these?"

"Most of them."

"You don't use sheet music?"

"No, I play by ear."

She glanced up at him, amazed. "I wish I could do that."

He shrugged and looked down, almost as if he were embarrassed.

Clary shuffled through the cases and finally picked one, holding it up to him. "I like this one."

Jace reached out and plucked it from her fingers. "Hmm." He rubbed his jaw. "Which song?"

Clary smiled and got to her feet, made her way over to the bed, and sat next to him, leaning into his shoulder to look at the titles on the back. Reaching out, she pointed. "That one."

He chuckled. "How did I know you'd pick that one?"

"What? What's wrong with it?"

He shook his head, still smiling. "Nothing. It's just such a girl song."

"No it's—!" She shoved his shoulder with both hands. "Shut up and just play."

He laughed again, and righted himself from her push. "All right, all right." Reaching down he grabbed his guitar, holding the neck in his right hand and the pick in his left. Before starting, he met her eyes once more.

"Does it make you feel weird playing with me sitting right here?" she asked.

He studied her face for a moment before answering. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm comfortable with you." His lips twitched into a smirk. "Now, are you going to be quiet and let me play or are you going to keep jabbering all night?"

She scowled and then smiled, twisting her fingers in front of her lips as if to lock them.

He smiled wider and lowered his head, strumming the guitar a few times before looking up again. "Ready?"

She nodded and moved back a little to give him room.

He took in a deep breath, glanced down once more, and started strumming. Clary bit her lip as she watched his fingers press the strings and his arm flex as he moved the pick across them.

Before he sang the first lyrics, he closed his eyes.

_**When I see your smile, tears roll down my face._

_I can't replace. _

_And now that I'm strong I have figured out._

_How this world turns cold, and breaks through my soul,_

_and I know I'll find deep inside me_

_I can be the one_

Clary raised her hands to her mouth, cupping them over her lips as she watched him. If she'd thought he was amazing to hear from a distance, she had never imagined what it would be like sitting directly across from him.

_I will never let you fall_

_I'll stand up with you forever_

_I'll be there for you through it all_

_Even if saving you sends me to heaven._

Even though she tried really hard to hold them back, the tears fell over her cheeks anyway.

_It's okay, It's okay, It's okay._

_Seasons are changing and waves are crashing and stars are falling all for us_

_Days grow longer and nights grow shorter_

_I can show you I'll be the one_

His eyes stayed closed, and he never missed a single note. His voice was always in tune, always on key. He strummed the cords perfectly. The emotion on his face, in his voice, in the set of his posture, drove Clary's tears to fall harder.

'_Cause you're my, you're my, my_

_My true love, my whole heart_

_Please don't throw that away_

'_Cause I'm here for you_

_Please don't walk away and please tell me you'll stay, stay_

Clary watched, growing more astounded every moment he allowed her to see him, to actually sit there with him as he bared himself in a way she knew no one else was privileged to see. And God, how she wanted him. Wanted him to be hers and for her to be his. To be able to touch him, hold him, kiss him. The overwhelming feeling swept over her, crashing down on her over and over again. Relentless waves of want and need for the beautiful boy before her. Her chest clenched as she fought against the growing pressure swelling inside her.

_Use me as you will, pull my strings just for a thrill_

_And I know I'll be okay, though my skies are turning gray_

_I will never let you fall_

_I'll stand up with you forever_

_I'll be there for you through it all_

_Even if saving you sends me to heaven_

As the last note hung in the air, both of them remained completely still. Jace's head hung as the sound faded into nothing, his breathing slightly uneven. Without meaning to, Clary sniffed.

Jace looked up, his face contorting slightly as he placed the guitar on the floor, propping it against the bed. "Are you crying?"

Clary wiped her eyes. "No."

He got off the bed and knelt on the floor in front of her. "Yes you are. Why are you crying?"

She sniffed again. "Because I'm a girl, and you're right, that's a girly song and girls cry at girly songs." She glanced up at him. He wasn't smiling like she hoped he'd be. The furrowed set of his brow and the concern in his eyes told her he didn't believe a word she'd said. A quiet sob escaped from her throat and she raised her hands to cover her face, feeling like a complete idiot. Why couldn't she hide this better?

After a moment, she felt Jace's hands on hers, gently prying her fingers away from her face. She resisted for a second, but gave up with his persistence.

"Tell me what's wrong, Clary," he said, quietly.

She squeezed her lids shut and shook her head before opening them again. "I can't."

"Why can't you?" He brushed his thumbs across her cheeks, removing her spilled tears and causing her to shiver at his touch.

"Because," she whispered. Letting out a sigh, she leaned forward and touched her forehead to his. "Because telling you will ruin everything."

"Ruin what?" He pulled back to look into her eyes.

She breathed out, gathered her courage, and raised her hands to his face, tentatively cupping his cheeks in her palms. Her fingers brushed over the light stubble on his chin as her eyes stared unwaveringly into his. She'd never felt so scared yet so determined in her life. "Do you really not know?" she whispered. "Can you really not feel it?"

His eyes widened slightly before they closed and he let out a deep breath, understanding of what she was saying evident by the crease between his brows. "Clary." He shook his head, his voice soft and pleading.

"I'm sorry," she said and looked down into her lap, her voice barely audible. "I didn't—I just—I know it's—I know it's not the—same for—"

His hands closed over her cheeks, mimicking her hold on his. "That's not it," he said, quietly.

Clary's heart jumped and she raised her gaze to his once more. "It's not?"

He shook his head.

"Then what is it?"

"It's—a lot of things. Your mom, my sister . . . me . . ." he trailed off. "I'm not—I'm not—"

She leaned forward, leaving only centimeters between them. "Yes, you are."

"Clary, please, don't."

"Why? If we both want to then . . ."

"Because—because once we go there, we can't come back."

She moved even closer, so close she could feel his breath tickling her mouth. "I think, maybe, we already can't."

They sat there for a moment, a second, a mere iota of time, not moving, barely even breathing. Neither really knowing which path to choose from there. One tiny movement back would break them apart, severing any chance to move in a direction they both seemed to want to go. But one millimeter forward would bring them together, changing everything in an instant. One beautiful instant. Clary knew what she wanted, knew the decision she needed to make, but God if she couldn't move, couldn't close the division of space between them.

Just as tears of frustration started forming in her eyes, she felt Jace's fingers tense on her jaw, drawing her slowly to him. It felt like miles instead of fractions of an inch. The closer he came, the harder it was for her to breathe. His eyes fell to her lips, as hers parted involuntarily in anticipation. Her hands shook on his cheeks and her heart pounded against her ribs. Just about every emotion she could ever feel—scared, excited, nervous, and elated—all descended on her at the same time. Every thought she'd ever had about what it would be like to be that close to Jace completely fell flat to the real experience.

At the first brush of his lips against hers, her eyes fluttered shut. It was everything she'd ever imagined and everything she hadn't—soft, warm, wet, wonderful. He cupped her face, firm but gentle at the same time. His lips stayed light and closed on hers until she pressed into him, needing to feel even more. Sliding her hands from his cheeks back around his neck and up into his hair, she fisted it gently and drew him tighter to her. He responded by strengthening his hold on her and parting his mouth slightly. Having no idea what to do, she followed his actions, allowing him to lead her. When he drew her bottom lip between his, she did the same with his top lip. When he opened against her, she opened to him. When he signaled to let him in, she did without hesitation, finally tasting him the way she'd wanted to for so long. Never in her life had she ever imagined anything as good as this, as good as him, but he was. Far better than anything she could have come up with on her own.

She didn't know how long they stayed like that, clutching each other's faces desperately as if one or the other might somehow disappear, before he moved his hands from her cheeks, down her shoulders, and wrapped them around her back, pulling her flush against him. His hard chest pressed into her as she let him hold her. One of his hands snaked up her spine and gripped the back of her neck, as she let her fingers mingle in his soft curls.

Clary half-ways believed she was dreaming. She had to be because things like this never happened to her in real life. She never got the biggest piece of pie. Never got the last pair of her favorite jeans on sale. And never, not once in the course of her life, had she been fortunate enough to get the guy. The one she wanted, dreamed of, ached for. Yet, here he was, sitting before her, his hands on her, his body wrapped up in her arms, his lips kissing hers. She knew it had to be too good to be true. It couldn't be real and she was afraid to open her eyes to the darkness of reality. Afraid to stop and find out it was all a lie, a trick, a cosmic joke played at her expense. She wanted to live in the moment, cherish it, and believe with all her heart that it was true. Even though somewhere deep inside she feared it wasn't.

After a while, Jace finally slowed the kiss by placing a few smaller ones to her lips, and then pulling away only far enough to press his forehead to hers. They stayed that way for a few more minutes, his fingers tracing circles on the back of her neck and hers running through the silky strands of his hair.

With a deep breath, he drew back further, meeting her eyes and moving his gaze between them. Almost as if he was trying to convince himself she was really there, just as she was doing with him. His hands rose to her temples, his fingers brushing her skin gently, and then following the length of her braids before he pushed out a breath and spoke again. "Well, my sister's going to kill me."

Clary stared at him for a moment and then burst out laughing.

He chuckled with her. "I'm not kidding. And so is your mother."

She sucked in a few deep breaths trying to dispel the giggles. Once she had them under control, she nodded. "I know, and that's precisely why we're not going to tell them."

He puckered his lips and tilted his head, looking up at her, his fingers trailing lightly down the side of her face once more. "I'm no good for you, you know."

"I know," she joked. "But I don't care. It's about time I rebelled a little."

He twisted her braid between his fingers, looking up at her from under his lashes. "What am I going to do with you?"

"You know, I'd really like to help you figure that out, but I just can't think of anything but this one thing right now."

"Oh?" His mouth lifted in a crooked grin. "And what's that?"

"Hmm." She wrapped her arms around his neck. "I wonder if you can guess." Leaning in, she captured his lips with hers once more.

He smiled against her mouth and pulled her tighter against him. Clary couldn't help but grin herself, deciding at that moment to forget anything other than what was occurring right then. She could worry about everyone and all the issues bound to mess with their little bubble of happiness tomorrow, because tonight was all theirs.

* * *

_This seems a good place to stop for today. :) More tomorrow!_


	13. Buried Treasure

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

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_**Chapter 13: Buried Treasure**_

_Chapter song:_

_Dirty Little Secret - All American Rejects_

* * *

Convinced that everything that happened the night before had been a dream, Clary didn't want to open her eyes. Although the dream was over, if she stayed there with her eyes closed, she could hold onto it a little longer: the feeling of dancing close to him, his hands on her face, his mouth on hers.

She sighed.

"Clary, I can tell you're awake." Isabelle's voice sounded from very close to her.

Without opening her eyes Clary said, "How can you tell? I haven't even opened my eyes yet."

"Well for one, you just talked. And for another, you sighed, and your lids keep squeezing together like you're trying to blink."

"Fine." Clary opened her eyes. "I'm awake."

Isabelle leaned over her, her brows furrowed and mouth puckered. Her black hair cascaded down, creating a curtain around them.

Frowning, Clary asked, "Isabelle. What are you doing?"

"Do you have allergies?"

"What? No. Why are you asking?"

Isabelle leaned back and chewed on the inside of her mouth. "I think you're having a reaction."

"What?" Clary shot up to a seated position, turning her full view on Isabelle. "A reaction to what?"

"I don't know, but I'm guessing the lipgloss? Your lips are all swollen and red." Isabelle's face fell. "I'm sorry, I should have asked about allergies last night."

Clary jumped up from the bed and ran over to the mirror on Isabelle's vanity. She raised a hand and tentatively touched her mouth. It didn't hurt at all, but her lips were a little swollen and colored a deep shade of pink. She frowned wondering what in the world—oh. Oh! A small grin pulled at one corner of her mouth. Okay, definitely not a dream.

Isabelle hopped up and appeared at Clary's side, glancing at both of their reflections in the mirror. "It's really not _that_ bad. I mean, it'll go down. Hey, I have some Benadryl, maybe that would help?"

Clary bit back a laugh thinking how that really wouldn't help at all. "It's fine, Izzy. I'm sure It'll go down on its own."

"Are you sure you're not mad at me?"

"Positive."

Isabelle let out a slow breath. "I promise never to subject you to untested lipgloss ever again."

"Okay." Clary laughed, feeling slightly guilty that she couldn't ease Isabelle's blame by telling her the truth. Somehow, she didn't think that would go over well. _Oh, don't worry about it. It's not from the lipgloss. I just spent half the night swapping spit with your brother. No big deal._

"But hey, upside? Maybe you can land yourself your very own Brad Pitt with those lips." She wiggled her eyebrows.

"Gross, Izzy. He's old."

"Old but hot."

Clary shook her head and moved from the vanity to the bed, sitting on the edge, her thoughts straying to the night's events. She wondered what it would be like to see Jace this morning. Would he look at her differently? Treat her differently? How could she hide what happened between them when she was actually around him? A shiver shot up her spine.

"Cold?" Isabelle asked.

"No." Clary smiled. "Just a chill."

"Oh." Isabelle pawed through her drawers, pulling out a set of white lacey undergarments. Holding them in her hand, she paused and asked, "You want to go use the bathroom first? I need a shower so if you just want to use it for a minute you should go first."

"Yeah, okay." Clary walked over to the desk chair, pulling her bag off the back and reaching inside for her toiletries case. Opening the bedroom door, she peeked into the hall, making sure she didn't run into "anyone" before she looked halfways decent and at least brushed her teeth. Finding it empty, she darted out and made it to the bathroom in three leaps, closing the door tightly behind her. She leaned against it for a moment, smiling at her ability to avoid being seen in her "just woken up" state.

Letting out a deep breath and trying to calm her erratically thumping heart, she crossed over to the sink, laying her case on the counter. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her lips definitely were a bit puffy, but her hair was a much bigger eyesore. Tendrils had come loose from her braids and stuck out at odd angles from her head making her look somewhat similar to Medusa. Pulling the ties from the ends, she undid the braids with her fingers, ran a brush through her hair, and seeing that it still looked highly unflattering, decided to put the braids back in. After her hair looked slightly less embarrassing, she grabbed her toothbrush and proceeded to make her mouth minty fresh.

After one more look in the mirror, she decided she was presentable enough and opened the bathroom door. Just before Clary reached Isabelle's bedroom, Isabelle and Jace both exited their rooms at the same time. She didn't turn to look at him, but just knowing he was there sent a flush spreading over her chest, up her neck, and pooling in her cheeks.

Isabelle stopped and stared at her. "Jesus, Angelina, I think it's spreading. Are you sure you don't want some allergy meds?"

Clary fought to keep her voice steady. "No, Isabelle. I'm fine."

Isabelle shrugged. "Fine. It's your face."

Clary turned slowly, watching Isabelle flit to the bathroom.

Just before she went inside she paused, her hand on the door frame. "Oh hey, can you wait till I'm out of the shower before you go home? We can have breakfast and talk about the dance and stuff."

"Sure." Clary nodded.

Isabelle flashed a smile and swept into the room, closing the door and locking it behind her.

Slowly, Clary raised her eyes to Jace. He stood in his doorway, dressed in his soccer uniform with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. She'd forgotten it was Saturday and he'd have a game that day. Reaching up absently, she twisted one of her braids in her hand as she lowered her gaze to the floor, cursing her stupid blood and pale skin.

"Hey," she said.

Jace dropped his bag and crossed the hallway, stopping just in front of her. "Why is Isabelle calling you Angelina and asking if you need allergy medication?"

Clary's cheeks heated again. She groaned and covered her face with her hands, and just like the night before, he reached out and peeled them away from her. Touching two fingers to her chin, he gently lifted until her eyes met his. "Stop hiding your face from me. I like seeing you blush," he said quietly. "So, why did she say that?"

"I don't want to say," she said softly.

He frowned. "Why not?"

"Because it's embarrassing."

He quirked one brow, amusement evident in his gold eyes. "Really?"

She pursed her lips trying not to smile. "Yes."

"I won't laugh."

"Yes you will. Although you shouldn't because it's all your fault."

"My fault? Well, then I think I have a right to know." He crossed his arms over his chest and grinned.

She narrowed her eyes and sighed before tapping her finger on her lips. His gaze lowered to them for a moment before rising to her eyes once more. She sighed again. "In case you haven't noticed, my lips are not normally this swollen."

"What?"

She stared at him while his eyes lowered to her lips again and back up.

"Oh." He still looked like he didn't know what she was talking about and then his brows lifted in realization. "Oh!" He laughed.

"You promised you wouldn't laugh!" She put her hands on her hips.

Jace bit his lip, making her stomach flip. "Sorry," he said, smiling.

"Uh huh." She turned away, holding back her own grin.

He stepped closer and leaned in to her. Reaching out, he tucked his fingers under her chin again and ran his thumb gently over her mouth. "I _am_ sorry. I'll be nicer this time."

She looked up at him and swallowed thickly. "This time?"

"Mmhmm." He paused and pulled back a bit. "Unless you don't want me to."

Clary shook her head. "No, I do. But," she glanced down the hall toward the stairs, "what about your parents?"

His gaze lowered to her lips as his thumb brushed over them once more, causing Clary's knees to tremble. "Robert had to go into the office for a few hours and Maryse took Max to karate. So, other than Isabelle, who is otherwise occupied, we're all alone."

"Alone?" she whispered.

"Alone," he repeated, moving in closer, his fingers sliding from her chin across her cheek.

Her breath hitched as he lightly touched his lips to one corner of her mouth, and then the other before pressing them to hers.

When she caught her breath again she said, "You're very good at that."

"At what?" He continued leaving tiny kisses on her lips.

"What you're doing."

Jace smiled against her mouth and brought both hands up, cupping her cheeks and bringing her face tighter against his, leaving one last chaste kiss before he pulled away. "I know."

Clary's lips tingled with warmth. Even though these kisses were soft and sweet, nothing like the long, passionate ones from the night before, surprisingly she liked them just as much. "Jeez, you're not full of yourself or anything, are you?"

He grinned and leaned his back against the wall next to her. "It's one of my more endearing qualities. You'll learn to love it in time."

"Yeah . . ." She peered up at him skeptically. "I'm not so sure about that one."

He lowered his gaze to the floor, a crooked smirk still on his lips.

"So . . ." She let her eyes run over him, taking in the baggy, yet, surprisingly clinging black and white uniform she'd seen him wear the other day, but hadn't really let herself appreciate until that moment. He looked miles beyond hot in it. So far past it she wasn't even sure she could see hot anymore. Maybe it was because she'd nearly inhaled his face earlier. Or, maybe it was because she'd always harbored a sort of sick lust for soccer players—which she'd never really admitted to herself since Jonathan played and she thought that it would be kind of gross to think about the hotness of soccer guys when her brother was one of them. But regardless of the exact reason, Jace was definitely one delicious man-boy soccer stud who could kiss like nobody's business. She wondered how much convincing it would take to get him to go another round with her—even if it was only a short one.

"Clary?"

"Hmm?" she mumbled, not looking up from her ogling session. Her fingers twitched to touch him. Thinking back, she should have taken advantage of the fact that he'd only worn a tank top the night before. She could've explored his arms and shoulders without any unnecessary barriers like clothes or whatever. But she'd been a little preoccupied with the amazing things he could do with his mouth. Hmm. Next time, maybe.

"Clary."

Her eyes finally snapped up to his, taking in his amused smirk. "Yeah?"

"Were you just checking me out?"

"What?" A familiar heat spread over her cheeks. "No, of course not."

"I think you were."

She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "So what if I was? I bet you check me out."

"Of course I do," Jace said matter-of-factly. "I'm a man, it's what we do. It's just a fact that if we see a beautiful girl, we check them out. It would be an impossibility not to."

Pushing aside the giddy feeling his roundabout way of calling her beautiful caused, she said, "So, because you're a guy you get to look all you want, but because I'm a girl, I can't?"

"That isn't what I said. I was merely asking if you were looking, you're the one that got defensive."

Clary narrowed her eyes. "You're infuriating, you know that?" A small grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. "And cute."

"Yes, I do." He bent and placed a small kiss on the tip of her nose before pulling back slightly and meeting her eyes. "So are you—on both counts. And you were so looking."

"I have a thing for soccer players." She shrugged. "So, sue me."

"Really?" He stood to full height, easily a head taller than her. "The uniform does it for you, huh?"

"Maybe." She allowed her eyes to rake over him again, pausing as her gaze fell on the red number eleven near his left shoulder.

Reaching out a shaky hand, she touched the patch softly, running her fingers along the bound edges. Her chest tightened at the reminder of who wouldn't be playing that afternoon. Jace's hand came up and covered hers, pressing her palm firmly against the patch on his chest.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Clary nodded, swallowing against the grief that had risen in her throat.

"I'm sorry. Sometimes I forget."

"Me too," she said. "And that's the scary part. I promised myself I'd never forget, yet I find myself thinking less and less about him." Flipping the hand against Jace's chest over, she slowly laced her fingers through his.

Jace looked down at their clasped hands and brought them up to his face, brushing his lips against her knuckles before meeting her eyes. "You don't need to feel guilty for living your life, Clary."

She closed her eyes and blew out a breath, trying to dispel the sadness welling up in her chest. "Rationally, I know that. But for some reason . . . my heart feels differently. Like if I let myself forget, it'll be like—like dishonoring him or something." She lowered her head. "It's stupid."

Jace dropped Clary's hand and reached out, pulling her toward him. His arms wrapped around her back, holding her flush against him. She rested her cheek on his chest, her head coming just to his chin, and slid her arms around his back.

"It's not stupid," he said, pressing his lips to her hair. "Someday, I promise, it won't hurt as much."

Clary let out a deep breath. "I hope so. But what do I do until then? What did you do?"

He lifted his head away from hers. "Well, I shut myself off and acted like an arrogant ass to everyone. I could give you lessons if you'd like, though I don't recommend that route for you. You're much too nice to pull it off."

Clary laughed and lifted her head to look at him.

"There it is," he said softly, raising one hand to trace the smile on her lips.

"You know, you're not as big of an ass as you think you are."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not."

"Well, then I need to try a little harder. I pride myself on being the biggest ass I can." He shrugged. "It's sort of my thing."

Clary furrowed her brows. "Tell me why I like you again?"

He shook his head. "Can't help you there. I've been asking myself the same question since last night. Aside from my stunning good looks, amazing kissing skills, and apparently really awesome hair, since you couldn't keep your hands out of it, I haven't a clue."

"Yes, that must be it, since I could never like anyone so egotistical." She rolled her eyes.

"No, of course not." He scrunched his nose and bent to place a short kiss on her lips. "I have to go. The bus leaves in twenty minutes from the school."

Clary released her grip on his waist, immediately feeling the loss of his warmth against her. "Where are you playing?" She followed him to his door, where he picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder once more, then started toward the stairs.

"Birchwood. But we have a doubleheader. One at eleven and one at three."

"Oh," she said. "Well, I'll be in my garage all day helping my mom go through all the old boxes in there for the local shelter. Fun times."

He laughed and took her hand, leading her down the stairs with him. Stopping in front of the door, he turned toward her and looked down at the floor for a moment before meeting her gaze, his brows furrowed. "I know this is kind of weird, not being able to tell anyone or anything. Especially Isabelle—I know she's your friend and all."

"It is, but I know my mother would freak out. She'd probably ban me from even looking in the direction of your house if she knew. Plus," Clary looked down and spoke quietly, "I wouldn't even know how to explain it, because I don't even really know what _this_ is."

"Me neither," he said. "It's definitely more complicated than any normal relationship."

Clary looked up at him, her lips twisting into a sly grin as she took a step closer. "You know, it's kind of fun though." She bit down on her bottom lip, reaching up to twist her fists in his shirt and pulling him closer. "Since we're both in agreement that many of our closest people would freak over whatever this is, if no one else knows, it's kind of like you're my dirty little secret."

The bag strapped over his shoulder thudded to the ground as he allowed her to drag him in. "I'm beginning to think you're not as nice a girl as I originally thought." Jace smiled. "And, don't do that." He reached up and pressed his thumb to her chin, pulling her lip from between her teeth. "That's my job."

"Why aren't you doing it then?"

Without another word, he leaned forward, pressing his mouth against hers and sucking the lip she'd been biting between his. Clary released his shirt and flung her arms up around his neck as his went around her waist, dragging her the rest of the way to him. Her entire body heated with the return of the warm, wet kisses of the night before, and she melted against him. Damn, he could kiss! She wasn't sure she'd be able to stand once he let go. It was very easy to lose herself in the moment.

The slamming of a door upstairs brought back into focus the reality of where they were and the situation they were in. They broke apart, both short of breath and eyes wide.

"Clary? Where are you?" Isabelle called from the top of the stairs.

"See you later," Jace whispered, pecked her lips once more, and grinned before slipping quietly outside.

Clary leaned her back against the door and took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. Screw physical exertion, kissing seemed to be the perfect cardio workout. She wondered if it was possible to get the gym teacher to consider that a new sport. She wouldn't mind practicing if it was.

After a moment, she answered, "I'm downstairs."

Isabelle's footsteps pounded against the carpeted stairs. After reaching the bottom, she crossed the foyer, frowning at Clary as she approached. "Why are you standing against the door?"

For a moment, Clary's mind completely emptied of every thought that didn't pertain to kissing Jace in that spot. Her mouth dropped open, yet no words came out. "Uh, nothing."

"Well, come in the kitchen then. We can get some breakfast."

Clary followed her and sat in one of the bar stools next to the island. Isabelle grabbed two bowls, a thing of raspberry yogurt and some granola, spreading the offerings out in front of them.

"So, what are you doing today?" she asked.

Clary spooned out some yogurt and sprinkled it with the granola. "I have to help my mom clean out the garage." She stuck her thumb in her mouth, licking off a bit of yogurt from her skin.

Isabelle stared at her strangely.

"What?"

"I don't know, Clary. I really think you should take my offer for some allergy meds. I think those things are swollen more."

Clary lowered her gaze to her bowl, puckered her lips, and grinned. Yeah, she bet they were too.


	14. Cloudy with a Chance of Rain

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

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_**Chapter 14: Cloudy with a Chance of Light Rain**_

_Chapter songs:_

_Fireflies - Owl City _

_Losing Grip - Avril Lavigne _

_Breathing - Lifehouse _

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Simon dropped back onto the grass, drops of sweat trailing down his cheeks and dripping from his nose. "Okay, that's it. I'm spent."

Clary sat next to him, squinting and holding her hand at her brow, attempting to shield her eyes from the bright sun. "You're spent? After three boxes?" She shook her head and pulled her knees to her chest, holding them tight against her with one arm. "That's pretty pathetic, even for you."

"But it's like a thousand degrees out here," he whined.

"I told you to wear appropriate clothing—and by that I meant shorts. It isn't my fault you decided to ignore me and come in jeans."

"Fray, you know I don't wear shorts."

"Oh come on, Simon. Who cares if your legs are skinny and white?" She paused. "And what do you really expect when you only ever wear pants?"

"You know it's not just that!" he turned to her and whispered in a harsh voice.

Clary rolled her eyes. Ever since Marty Brasman told the entire school about Simon's "inability" to grow hair on his legs he'd been afraid to wear shorts for fear that everyone would think he shaved. "I thought you said it was finally growing in?"

Simon frowned and glanced up at the sky. "It is, but it's still really sparse and—well, you know how I feel about it."

"All right." She held her hands up in front of her and fell back onto the grass next to him.

They lay there for awhile, side by side, their heads touching, while staring up at the clouds and pointing out different shapes to one another. Clary saw an elephant, a Chinese mask, and a pair of angel wings. Simon kept rattling off various video game scenarios that Clary had no idea what he was talking about, or how he managed to see such detailed scenes in a clump of moisture particles. But she'd stopped questioning Simon's imagination a long time ago. It just wasn't worth the hour long lecture she received on which sorcerers harbored which power, the different weapon accessories available to each player, and which demons spewed poisonous venom.

Even though they hadn't spent much time together since his return from the summer excursion with his mother, it was easy to fall back into their easy friendship. Clary had almost forgotten what it was like. Most people looked at them and assumed what they had went beyond friendship, but that had never been an issue for them. Simon had been her best friend practically all her life and she just didn't see him that way. Sure, he was cute in his own geeky, Simon-way. And she loved him, but the relationship they had was perfect just as it was. No games, no worrying about looks, no pretending. Just them acting like dorks as they always had. She liked it that way.

But Jace—well, Jace was another issue entirely. From the moment she'd laid eyes on him she'd felt—something. It wasn't love at first sight or any such nonsense, but it was different than she'd ever felt for anyone else. A connection of sorts that was immediate and strong. She had no idea what it meant or what it was. All she knew was that she _had_ to know him. Had to be around him and get inside to figure him out. But the more time she spent with him, the more she wanted . . . _more._ He got her in ways that not even her best friend got her. The understanding off loss and pain was something she had with no one else. Not even her mother who had suffered the loss of Jonathan as well. Maybe it was because her mother was an adult and had an easier time coping with such things. Maybe Clary just needed someone her own age to listen. To be there. To share it with.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was just him she'd needed all along.

"You seem happy," Simon said, breaking through her musings.

Clary stared at the sky and smiled. "I feel happy."

"It's been a long time." He turned his head toward her. "I've missed seeing you like this."

Clary met his gaze. "Truthfully, I've missed feeling like this. Like—it was okay to be happy again." She shook her head and looked back up once more. "It's nice."

The screen door banged shut and Clary lifted her head to see her mother trudging across the lawn, carrying a tray with three glasses of lemonade perched on top.

"Thirsty?" she asked, pausing when she saw them lying on the ground. "Really? You needed a break already? After—" she turned to survey the work they'd completed, "six boxes?"

Clary sat up and pushed herself to her feet, taking one of the glasses from Jocelyn. "Not me, I was just humoring Mr. 'it's-like-a-thousand-degrees-out-here.'"

Jocelyn laughed and motioned for Clary to sit back down. She handed a glass to Simon, who'd managed to sit up at least. "So, tell me about the dance. Did you two have fun?"

Giddiness curled in Clary's stomach as she thought of the dance. While it had been fun in its entirety, the most exciting part of the evening didn't happen until the last ten minutes, and furthermore, later that night.

"Yeah, it was great," Clary said, trying to act nonchalant and not reveal anything more than what was appropriate.

"Did you dance with anyone?"

Jocelyn always did this, probing for information on Clary's interaction with boys. Clary knew her mother only wanted to protect her. Considering what happened with Julian, she didn't blame her, but wondered if maybe she'd loosen the chastity belt just a little. Sooner or later, she knew that keeping this thing with Jace a secret would become increasingly more difficult. She didn't know how he felt about possibly someday letting it be known to the general public, and she was okay with the secrecy for now—she actually kind of liked it—but someday, it would be nice to be able to be open and free with him. When that day came, she didn't want Jocelyn to freak out over it, demanding she cut it off. But, how could she convince her mother to give her a chance. To give them a chance?

"Um, well, Simon." Clary gestured to him. "And . . ."

Jocelyn raised a brow. "And?"

"Well, Sebastian once." _And Jace, who, by the way, is now my super hot spit-swapping partner._

"Sebastian Verlac? Jonathan's friend?"

Clary raised the glass to her lips, nodding over the rim as she swallowed a large gulp.

Jocelyn looked away, a speculative gleam in her eyes. "He's a nice boy," she said before meeting Clary's gaze once more. "I always liked him."

Clary nearly choked on her lemonade. "What? You mean you're not going to yell at me?"

"Why would I yell at you?" Jocelyn blinked innocently.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because you always do when it comes to boys?"

"When have I?

Clary raised her brows. "Um, just last week. Remember? At the school?"

Jocelyn's eyes widened. "That—that was different?"

"Wait a second—" Simon leaned forward. "What are you two talking about?"

Clary ignored him. "How was that different?"

"It just—was." Jocelyn fidgeted. "He's a different sort of boy, Clary."

"Who is?" Simon asked, clearly confused as to the direction of the conversation.

"Again, Mom, how?"

Jocelyn let out a slow breath and looked away for a moment before meeting Clary's gaze once more. "I've spoken to Maryse, Clary."

"Oh," Simon's eyes grew wide with understanding, "_him_."

"So?" Clary hedged.

"And, well, he's . . . he's a very troubled boy. That's all."

Clary shrugged. "So what? Does that mean he doesn't deserve friends? I have issues too, does that mean I don't?"

"Honey," Jocelyn leaned forward and placed her hand over Clary's, "Of course you do, and of course he does. It's just . . ." She drew in a deep breath. "He's a very nice looking young man, and I'm sure you've noticed that. He has a . . . history, according to Maryse, with young ladies, and I just don't want you to be taken advantage of, that's all."

"Okay," Clary stood slowly. "Let me get this straight. I can be friends with a boy—as long as he's not too cute?"

"Hey." Simon's forehead creased with hurt.

Clary rolled her eyes and shoved him in the shoulder.

"Cuteness is not the only factor, Clary." Jocelyn stared straight into her eyes. "You forget, I saw you two together. You were touching each other and . . ."

"Oh, come on, Mom. I touch Simon all the time. It's no big deal. Plus, I told you what that was. He was helping me, that's it." Clary's conscience screamed in her brain, _Liar, Liar, pants on fire!_

"Boy, I am totally lost now," Simon muttered to himself.

"I know what you said, Clay," Jocelyn said with a disbelieving tone.

Clary's mouth dropped open. Never in the past had she given Jocelyn reason not to trust her. Although she was completely and painfully aware that what she was doing right now was an ironic contradiction to that fact. She didn't want to go against her mother. She didn't want to lie. But what choice did Jocelyn give? It was clear in Clary's mind that her mother had her mind set on what "type of boy" Jace was without even having ever met him for real. She would never give him a chance because of what she perceived him to be. Sure, he looked like the type of boy to play with girls. And he may have been that way. But the boy she knew, wasn't like that—at least not to her.

Clary lowered her head, chuckled darkly, and stood. "You know, I never thought I would ever feel this way let alone say it, but . . . I'm really disappointed in you, Mom."

Jocelyn gaped at her, but Clary continued.

"I always viewed you as sort of a free spirit. Sure, you are a ferocious mama bear, and there's nothing wrong with that. But I never thought you would blatantly judge people before you even got to know them. I don't care who it is, people don't deserve that. Everyone deserves a chance." She pushed a chunk of sweaty hair from her eyes. "Just because I happened across a really stupid boy once doesn't mean they're all like that. And just because someone has issues doesn't mean there's anything to be scared of. It makes me feel bad when you say that, because to a lot of people, I'm a freak. I'm the girl who has 'issues.' The one who's totally screwed up after her brother died. To hear you say something so—so—mean and judgmental about someone else . . . it just—it hurts me too. Because that could be how other people talk about me." She paused and smoothed her hands down the sides of her shirt. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to get back to work." Turning on her heel, she stomped back toward the garage, before pivoting once more toward Jocelyn and Simon. "Oh, I found a box of old comics in here. I thought maybe Max would like them since he reads comics. Would you mind if I gave them to him—or is he too cute for me to talk to?"

"Clary," Jocelyn warned.

"What?" She acted like she didn't know what the problem was. "He is quite adorable."

Jocelyn sighed and stood to her feet, gathering all three glasses before meeting Clary's gaze. "You're being ridiculous."

"I'm a teenager, I'm allowed to be ridiculous."

Jocelyn pressed her lips into a thin line.

Clary knew that look, knew it meant that her mother had nearly had enough. For once, Clary didn't care about being the good girl, the polite girl. She didn't like this new attitude Jocelyn portrayed and especially because at the moment it was directed at Jace. Why did she have to act this way? Did she never want Clary to date anyone, ever? She realized Jocelyn did it out of concern, but she couldn't help but feel her mother was going overboard.

"You may give the comics to Max, that's fine." She eyed Clary carefully. "We'll discuss your attitude later."

"Whatever," Clary said as she turned from Jocelyn and made her way back into the garage. She threw herself into clearing the far right hand corner, fuming into the boxes of old dishes, clothing, and toys. She didn't know how long she threw stuff around before she heard a throat clearing behind her.

Sighing, she turned and met Simon's dark eyes. "What?"

He shook his head and looked at the ground. "What was that all about?"

"Nothing," she said before turning back to what she'd been doing before.

"That didn't sound like nothing. I have no idea what you guys were talking about that went on between you and Jace but—"

Clary closed her eyes and bowed her head. "It really was nothing, Simon. I had a bit of a panic attack during the assembly and Isabelle and Jace helped me out of the gym. Isabelle went to get Mom while Jace calmed me down. That was it." She tossed a few old sweaters into an empty box labeled "to go." "She's just freaking out over nothing like usual."

"Okay, I get that, but why are you so upset about what she thinks of Jace? I mean, you don't even talk to him, do you? So why do you care?"

Clary let out a slow breath before answering. She knew she had to be careful and that her reactions were suspicious. But it made sense, didn't it? Whether or not she "talked" to Jace was beside the point. She didn't have to stand by and listen to her mother say things about him like that. Didn't have to go along with her very wrong assessment just because. No. She was quite sure she'd stick up for anyone, regardless of whether or not she "knew them" well, if she felt they were being wronged or mistreated. "Because, it's rude. She doesn't know him at all and yet she still feels like she can judge who or what he is. I don't like that. I wouldn't like it if she did it to anyone."

Simon stepped up next to her and tucked his arms around her, pulling her into his side. She laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. "I know." His hand came up and brushed the damp hair away from her face. "I know you're a very caring person and you don't like people being mistreated. I get that. But, Clary, this is your mom. Don't you think she'd have a good reason for saying those things?"

Clary lifted her head and glared at him.

He held his hands up in front of him as if in surrender. "I'm just saying, she said she talked to his mother. Maybe she knows some things you don't. Maybe bad things."

Clary shook her head and started going through the boxes again.

"Just think about it, Clary, okay? Maybe you can ask her about it or something. Then you'd know exactly what her aversion is." His voice grew quiet. "Maybe you'd be more cautious then too."

Clary spun around. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Simon lifted his hand and ran it through the hair at the back of his head. "Well, you're too trusting. You believe everyone at first thought and, well, sometimes it gets you in trouble."

She narrowed her eyes. "You're not seriously blaming me for the whole Julian fiasco are you? Because I swear, Simon, if you are, I will cut off all the legs of your pants so you _have_ to wear shorts to school."

"No! Of course not! I would never do that." He raked his hand through his hair again. "I'm just saying that not every guy is nice."

"And not every one is like Julian. I just wish she could see that. She's just being so—stubborn about everything. It's driving me insane."

Simon chuckled. "At least we know where you get it."

Biting back a smirk, Clary threw an old sweater at Simon. "Shut up."

He raised his hands to ward off her attack and grinned. "Just keeping it real."

"Are you going to help me with this or are you just going to stand around watching me all day?"

"Jeez, you're such a slave driver," Simon said as he bent to pick up the now full "to go" box at Clary's feet. "Next time I'm here to witness one of your mother-daughter spats, could it please be about something other than boys? Thinking about that makes me want to break out in hives."

Clary rolled her eyes. "Sure, Simon, I'll be sure to get you a copy of our argument schedule, so you can plan your visits around the more sensitive topics."

Simon breathed a sigh of relief. "That'd be great." He turned and walked toward Jocelyn's truck—well, Luke's actually, but he'd let Jocelyn borrow it for hauling.

"God, you're such an idiot." Clary laughed.

"I heard that, Fray," Simon called.

Clary smiled to herself. Her best friend may be an idiot, but he was her idiot and she was thankful for that at least.

.o.O.o.

Just as the sun lowered beneath the tree line, casting long, dark shadows across the lawn, Simon and Clary loaded the last boxes into the back of Luke's truck.

Closing the tailgate, Simon leaned against it. "Remind me to never accept an invitation to your house on a Saturday afternoon ever again."

Clary laughed and lounged next to him. "Think of it as pay back for all the times you made me come listen to Eric play."

"Oh, come on, it wasn't that bad."

Clary turned to him and raised her brows.

He grinned. "Fine. But are we even now? Because, I think I may have gotten a hernia carrying all these boxes."

"I guess."

The screen door slammed and Jocelyn walked across the yard toward them, her hair knotted on top of her head and a long sundress replaced her sweats and t-shirt from earlier. "Are you ready, Simon?" she asked, dangling her keys in one hand and her bag in the other.

"Yeah." He shoved off the back of the truck and made his way around to the passenger side. Before he got in, he turned to Clary. "Don't fight with your mom anymore. You know she's just trying to keep you safe."

Clary rolled her eyes. "Just get in the truck, Lewis."

Simon jumped inside and Clary met her mother's gaze over the bed of the truck.

Jocelyn let out a sigh. "I don't want to fight with you, Clarissa, but that doesn't mean I'm going to just go back on everything I've said to you. I'm your mother and it's my job to protect you. Sometimes that means being hard about some things. I'm sorry you don't like that but that's just the way it is."

"Great, Mom." She turned and walked toward the house. "I'll guess we'll just pick up where we left off when you get back from your _date_."

"Clary—"

Clary turned abruptly, her hands crossed over her chest. "What?"

"Please, let's not do this, all right?"

Just as Clary was about to answer, Maryse pulled into the driveway next door. Isabelle sat in the passenger seat, and Max sat in the back behind her.

"Hey, Clary!" Isabelle called as she hopped out of the car.

"Hello, Maryse," Jocelyn said.

Maryse nodded once and offered a short, "Jocelyn."

Jocelyn looked at Clary. "We'll finish this later."

Clary rolled her eyes and walked toward the Lightwoods. She met Simon's eyes as she passed. He shook his head and looked down at his lap in disappointment. Clary knew she was acting immature, but in her eyes, so was Jocelyn. Deciding how someone was or wasn't before finding out for herself was just rude. She couldn't just come to the conclusion that Jace was no good without ever having taken a moment to talk to him. It wasn't fair and she would make sure Jocelyn understood that. But she had to find a way to do it without arousing any more suspicion about her reasons for being so offended by it. If Jocelyn had even an iota of thought that there was more than a friendly acquaintance between Clary and Jace, she would not hesitate to do everything she could to keep them apart.

Jocelyn pulled out of the driveway as Clary approached the Lightwood's car. Max jumped out of the backseat, his eyes dancing and a huge smile on his face.

"Hi, Clary!" he said.

Clary couldn't help but smile even though she still felt angry with her mother. "Hey, Max. How was your day?"

"Awesome!" he said. "We went to the games."

"Oh yeah? Sounds more fun than my day." She leaned forward and whispered, "Cleaning out a dirty garage is totally the pits."

Max wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, that doesn't sound fun at all."

"So, how were the games?" Clary asked, trying to sound interested only because Max was.

"So good." he said. "We won both of them!"

"Really?"

Max nodded, his eyes wide and bright. "Jace made seven goals."

"Seven? That's pretty impressive."

"I know. He's awesome."

Clary laughed and nodded, thinking the very same thing.

Isabelle strolled up next to them, leaning against the door of the car and smiling down at her little brother. "Somebody suffers from a major case of hero worship."

"Shut up, Izzy," Max snapped.

Clary laughed again and bent at the waist to look him in the eye, though she didn't have to bend far. At age nine, Max was only a few inches shorter than her. "It's okay. I felt the same way about my brother, so you can join me in the hero worshipping club, deal?" She stuck her pinky out to him.

He grinned and hooked his around hers. "Deal."

"Isabelle!" Maryse called from the porch.

Isabelle groaned. "Coming!" Turning back to Clary, she rolled her eyes. "I have to help Mom with dinner."

"You cook?" Clary asked surprised.

"Hell no!"

"Izzy!" Max said.

"Oh, sorry. _Heck_ no." She glanced down at him. "Better?"

He nodded and crossed his arms over his chest.

Izzy returned her gaze to Clary's, a small smirk on her lips. "I have to wash and chop the vegetables. That's as close as Mom let's me get. I'm a disaster in the kitchen."

"Oh," Clary said. "Have fun—oh, can I borrow Max for a bit?"

Isabelle shrugged. "Keep him forever if you want." She rubbed her fist on his head.

"Hey! Knock it off, Izzy."

Clary giggled. "I'll return him; I just have something I think he might like." She beckoned him to follow her as Isabelle made her way up to the house.

"What is it, Clary?"

"It's a surprise." She punched in the code of the garage door and they waited as it slowly rose from the ground.

Max fidgeted in excitement as he waited. "I love surprises."

"Good," Clary said as the door finally stopped moving and they stepped inside. She led him to the large box near the entrance, gesturing for him to look inside.

He stepped up to the box, folded over the flap, and his eyes went wide as a gasp escaped his lips.

"So, what do you think?" she asked.

"I think," he paused for dramatic effect, "that these are totally awesome! Where did you get them?"

"One of my mom's friends gave them to my brother and I a while ago. I thought you might like to have them."

Even though she would have thought it an impossibility, Max's eyes grew even larger. "You're—you're _giving_ these to me?"

"Sure." Clary shrugged. "That is, if you want them?"

"Do—do I want them?" he asked as if that were the stupidest thing he'd ever heard in his life. "Of course I want them."

"Well, then they're yours."

His grin grew wider and then slowly faded.

"What?"

"Well." He reached a hand up and scratched his head, much in the same way Jace had the night before when she'd asked him what he was going to play. She smiled at the memory. "I'm not sure how I'm going to get it home. It's pretty big."

"Hmm." Clary raised her hand to her chin, stroking it lightly.

"I got it." He snapped his fingers. "I'll ask Jace to come get it when he gets home. Is that okay?"

_More than okay._ "Sure. That's fine."

"Okay." Max jumped a few times excitedly. "I'm gonna go tell Mom!"

"Okay. See you later, Max."

"Bye, Clary." He rushed toward the opening of the garage, stopping just before he set foot outside, and turned back to her. "Thanks."

She smiled. "You're welcome."

He returned her smile and stole out into the dark.

Clary ambled back inside, fixed herself something to eat, and tried to read for awhile. Unfortunately, the argument between her and Jocelyn would not leave her mind long enough for her to concentrate on anything. She still couldn't believe the way her mother had reacted. Jocelyn had never been like this before. She'd always been very accepting of all people. Always the first to help anyone out. Always taking the side of the underdog whether it be during presidential debates, sports games, or anything, really. Even after what happened with Julian, she hadn't been this bad. It wasn't until Jonathan's death that she'd started all the overprotective crap. It started out with everything. But had since dwindled to being just boys. Clary got it, understood how Jocelyn could feel the way she did, but that didn't make it right or fair.

Angry tears slipped down her cheeks, and she wiped them away irritably. She just couldn't stand being treated like a child. Even though, for the most part that day, she'd acted like one. All she wanted was for Jocelyn to let her make her own decisions. To decide for herself whom she wanted to be friends with and whom she didn't. She hated the constant feeling of being watched, babied. All she wanted was to be a normal teenager. To go out with friends, to participate in extracurricular activities, to date the boy she wanted to date without feeling like she had to sneak around to do it. Clary knew Jace was worried about Isabelle and her feelings on the whole thing, but deep inside, Clary knew Isabelle would come around after awhile. She may be hurt or upset at first, but she really thought she'd be okay after the initial shock wore off. But, Jocelyn, well, that was a different story all together.

A knock at the door startled Clary out of her thoughts. She swiped the rest of the tears off her face and made her way over to the door, opening it to find Jace standing on her porch. He was freshly showered and dressed in a black t-shirt and dark jeans.

"Max said you had something for him I needed to come get?" His voice was flat and his face impassive. If she didn't know better she would never have thought he saw anything in her other than neighborly politeness.

"My mom's not here."

"Oh, thank God." His face immediately dropped the blank look and filled with relief and a bit of concern. "I thought I was going to have to act like an uncaring ass the whole time. What's wrong?"

She stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind her and plunging them both into darkness. Standing several inches away from him she asked, "Where is your family?"

"In the house. Why?"

"Can they see my porch when it's dark like this?"

"No, I don't think so."

She let out a relieved breath and lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in the crook of his neck. His arms slid around her, one hand at her waist and the other fisted in her hair.

"What's wrong?" he asked again.

"Nothing. My mother." She sighed. "She's being—difficult."

"Why? About what?"

Clary drew back from him, grabbed his hand, and dragged him to the porch swing near the end of the deck. "About you." Clary felt him stiffen in her grasp. She shook her head. "I didn't tell her anything about us. She just—well, she was asking about the dance and I told her about dancing with Sebastian." Clary grimaced. "I figured she'd get all mad and yell at me like she did after my little 'incident' at the school last week. But no, she acted all—accepting and like she liked the idea. Then I asked her why she wasn't mad about that, when she'd nearly bitten my head off about even talking to you earlier in the week, and she said some crap about talking to Maryse and that you were different and—" Clary sighed. "And it was just stupid and I'm angry with her."

Jace was quiet for a few moments, making Clary uneasy. Finally, he spoke in a low voice. "Did she tell you what Maryse said?"

"What?" Clary glanced over at him. She couldn't make out his expression in the dim moonlight. "No. Why?"

He let out a slow breath and looked up, his gaze peering off into the distance. "There's a lot of things we'll have to talk about, but not now since Max is expecting me back soon."

"Jace . . ."

He lowered his head and shook it. "I won't deny I've been screwed up a long time, Clary. I've done a lot of stupid things. I've seen a lot of worse things."

"Hey." She reached out and touched his cheek, turning him to face her. "You can tell me whatever you want to tell me, but your past is your past, okay? I'm not going to hold it against you."

"Maybe you won't." His eyes finally met hers, and even in the dimness she could see the uncertainty in them. "Or maybe you will. And I won't blame you at all, but . . . I need a little time, okay?"

She nodded, brushing her thumb along his cheek. He leaned over and pressed his lips to her forehead, then pulled her to him.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath before speaking. "Are you going to play tonight?"

"Do you want me to?"

She nodded.

"What do you want to hear?"

She snuggled in further as his arms squeezed tighter. "Something happy, okay? I think I'm done with depressing for today."

He chuckled and brushed his lips against her hair, his breath warming her chilled skin. "Okay."


	15. Down Came the Rain

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

* * *

_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

* * *

_**Chapter 15: Down Came the Rain**_

_Chapter songs:_

_**It's Been Awhile - Stained_

_**The Secret's in the Telling - Dashboard Confessionals_

_**Why Can't I - Liz Phair_

* * *

The nearly scalding water fell from the shower head, rolling over Jace's shoulders and burning as it traveled down the length of his body. On any normal day, he would have jumped back and nudged the knob until the water reached the right temperature. But not today. Today he barely felt the stinging pain as his skin reddened at the contact.

Steam billowed up around him, coating the glass with a concealing layer of white mist. He hung his head, allowing the water to flow over his face, blinding him, and making it harder to breathe. Raising one hand, he pushed the sopping curls out of his eyes and held them on top of his head. He exhaled a slow breath, drops of moisture sputtering from his wet mouth. Clenching his eyes shut, he leaned forward placing his palm against the cool tile wall, the hot spray now hitting the center of his back.

No matter how hard he tried to shut them out, the memories that had assaulted him all night would not leave. It wasn't often he had an episode so intense, but unfortunately, it wasn't unheard of either. He didn't know what had prompted the return of the most forceful pictures. The ones he never allowed himself to think about.

Jace lowered the hand fisted in his hair and ran it across his chest, tracing the raised lines peppered over his flesh. The thin, pale scars were a daily reminder of the life he'd left behind. Some days they reminded him of how far he'd come. How he'd escaped and now had a family who wanted and cared about him, not just another typical foster home where the guardians were only interested in the check that graced their mailboxes. But other days, like today, they served as a catalyst, bringing forth the flurry of images and sensations associated with them. He tried to block them, but they came regardless.

_A whirring sound roared in his ears, followed by the cracking of breaking glass and a soft tinkling, almost like a set of wind chimes, as the pieces scattered across the hardwood floor. Sticky warmth flowed over his fingers as the scent of copper and salt thickly permeated the air. _

Shaking his head and pounding both fists against the wall, he tried pushing the images back. No matter how much time passed, if he allowed the memories to overtake him, he could still feel the searing pain ripping through him, almost as if the wounds were still fresh. He clenched his fists so tight his nails dug into the flesh of his palms, the pain bringing some relief from the memory onslaught.

He stood there for a long time, letting the heat dull to warm, and then finally, cold. Pushing the lever down, he stepped out of the shower, pulled a large blue towel from the rack and hastily ran it over his hair and body. The unbearable pressure was still present but had lessened to a dull roar. He had the relentless urge to hit something—that always helped to quell the beast and was the reason a punching bag hung in the corner of the basement—but time was not on his side that morning.

The pile of clothing he'd brought with him lay next to the sink. Quickly, he pulled on the jeans and nondescript gray t-shirt, and peered up at his reflection in the mirror. Dark circles surrounded his eyes—a sight he was becoming more and more used to. With a sigh, he ran his fingers through his still wet hair, forgoing a brush because it was just impossible to tame that mess.

After grabbing his bag from the back of the chair at his computer desk, he rushed down stairs, finding an impatient Isabelle standing near the door, her arms crossed over her chest and tapping her foot. Max stood at her side, his nose buried in one of the comics Clary had given him a couple of days before.

"Finally," Isabelle said as Jace swept past her into the kitchen, grabbing a few breakfast bars that would have to tide him over until lunch. "I don't even want to know what could have possibly kept you in there that long."

Stuffing the bars in the front pocket of his backpack, he glanced up at her with a smirk. "No, I'm sure you don't." He figured letting her assume _that_ was better than what was really going on.

Isabelle's face screwed up in disgust. "Ugh, that's sick."

Jace walked around her and Max, opening the door before leaning closer to her and saying, "Oh, come on. You know you do it, too." Before she could shriek or hit him, he flew out the door, laughing at the look on her face.

"You're such a pig, Jace."

God, he loved getting a rise out of her, and it was so easy too. All he had to do was say something minutely perverted and she got all flustered. Which he thought was pretty ironic since he'd heard some of her conversations with her friends. Her mind lived in the gutter almost as much as his.

Thick, gray clouds covered the sky and a light drizzle came down making everything wet and slick. Beaded drops dotted the exterior of his car. Max climbed in the backseat, leaving the passenger door open for Isabelle. Jace crossed the driveway to the driver's side and had just lowered his hand to the handle, when he heard a shout and the slamming of a door. Glancing up, he saw Clary coming down her front steps, her posture and the fact that she made a point to stomp down each step gave him the impression she was upset. Unfortunately, he couldn't see her face because she held her head down and had covered it with her yellow hoodie.

Just as her foot hit the paved sidewalk her bag slipped from her shoulder, and when she scrambled forward to catch it, spilled its contents all over the damp ground. She slapped her hands to the sides of her legs and with a barely audible whimper, knelt to the ground and began gathering her things.

Isabelle laughed loudly and called out, "Smooth move, Fray."

Clary looked up, and for the first time, noticed she had an audience. Her cheeks turned a blistering shade of crimson before she lowered her gaze once more.

Jace turned to Isabelle and scowled, feeling irritated and more than a little protective. "And you call me an ass." He dropped his bag on the front seat and walked over to help Clary, but not before catching the surprised look on Isabelle's face.

As he neared her, a few loose pages blew over to him and stuck to his legs. He bent down, peeled the damp pages from his jeans, and squatted in front of her, busying his hands with the other loose homework trying to escape. "Rough morning?"

Her hands stilled and she looked up, meeting his eyes. She nodded slowly. "You have no idea."

"If it makes you feel any better, my morning pretty much sucked too."

A small smile lifted one corner of her mouth before she continued gathering stuff up. "Why would that make me feel better? I wouldn't wish a craptastic morning like this on you—or anyone else for that matter—but especially you."

He chuckled. "Where do you come up with that stuff? I swear, you have a new word for me every time we talk."

"You should hear the ones in my head. You'd seriously be ashamed to associate with me if you heard them."

"Oh, now you're going to have to tell me. That's just not fair."

Clary met his gaze once more, her smile widening. "No one said life was fair, Goldie." She studied his face for a moment and then bit her lip, knowing full well it would drive him crazy.

He let out a slow breath. "Now, that's just mean."

What he wouldn't have given at that moment to not have Isabelle and Max waiting in the car twenty feet away and Clary's mother most likely inside. Because that crap with the lip biting would just have to be dealt with.

"Sorry." She released her lip and shoved all her school work back into her backpack, making sure to secure it properly.

A gust of wind swept across the yard, blowing Clary's hood back and off her head. Oh, hell, she had the Pippi Longstocking braids again. Clary reached back and jerked the hood over just as rain started to fall.

"Come on." Jace stood. "I'll give you a ride."

Clary got to her feet and looked dubiously at the car. "But, Isabelle . . ."

He glanced up at the sky. "It's raining. I hardly think she'll question my motives. Do you?"

"No, I guess not."

Jace led her to the car, pulled up the lever on the side of the seat, and pushed it forward, letting her climb in behind. As she moved past him, she tucked her hand discreetly behind her back, her fingers grazing his as she squeezed by. A small grin tugged at his lips.

"Thanks for your help, Izzy," Clary said as she settled in the back and Jace climbed into the driver's seat.

Isabelle turned around, peering behind her. "What? I didn't want my hair to frizz." Her gaze moved to Jace. "And what's up with you being all helpful and whatever?"

He looked at her and scowled. "Would you have preferred me follow your example and leave her there to chase down her homework in the rain? I would have looked like a jackass, and you know I'm all about changing my former jackassish ways."

Isabelle's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. "Since when?"

"Since about three minutes ago, when you decided to take up the slack in that department. Though—I really think you should practice with the sarcastic wit. 'Smooth move' really isn't as insulting as it once was. It's actually kind of lame. I've got a whole arsenal of burns ready if you need some pointers." He backed the car out of the driveway and continued on down the street in the direction of the elementary school.

Clary snickered from the back seat. Jace glanced in the rearview mirror, taking in the lowering of her eyes and small shake of her head. He bit back his own grin.

Isabelle whipped around. "What? You think he's funny now?"

Clary shrugged and Max laughed.

Isabelle glared at Jace and pointed. "You are _not_ funny."

He lifted his hands from the steering wheel for a second, holding them up in surrender. "Majority rules, and everyone but you is in agreement that I can hold my own with humor."

More giggles erupted from the backseat. Isabelle huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, obviously not enthused with laughter at her expense. She didn't speak the rest of the way to the elementary school. Jace tried to keep his eyes on the road but every so often, he snuck a peek at Clary in the rearview mirror. She and Max were engaged in some sort of battle over which superhero could trump the other. He really didn't comprehend a word they were saying, because he couldn't concentrate on anything but the expressions she made as she talked to him. The childish grins and snorts that came out of her were all too adorable—even more so considering they were coupled with her long, red Pippi braids. He wondered if she knew how much he liked them, and if it was slightly pervish of him considering they made her look kind of childlike.

Isabelle finally loosened her defensive posture and reached into her bag for a bottle of water just as they pulled into the elementary school parking lot. She lifted it to her lips and took a long chug at the same time Max blurted, "You know what, Clary? I think you should be Jace's girlfriend."

Isabelle choked and sprayed the water all over the dashboard.

"Aw, come on, Izzy!" Jace threw open the center console, grabbed a stack of napkins he kept for such incidents, and threw them at her, trying his hardest not to act interested in Clary's answer.

After her laughter subsided, Clary said, "Oh yeah, and why do you think that?"

"Yeah?" Isabelle added, hastily mopping up her mess. "Why would you say such a ridiculous thing?"

Max stuck his tongue out at Isabelle and turned back to Clary. "Because Jace is awesome and you're awesome. And awesome squared would just be like the ultimate in awesomeness, right?"

Isabelle finished cleaning up and twisted around in her seat, gripping the headrest with both hands. "Max, someday, when you're older, you'll understand just how crazy that sounds. See, Clary here is sweet, nice, and normal, and Jace—well, there's just no nice way to say this, so I'm just going to spit it out. Jace is an assclown."

Max gasped. "Izzy! I'm telling Mom!"

She opened her door, climbed out, and folded the seat forward, peering in and tapping Max's knee. "It's okay, she already knows."

Max stumbled out, making sure to push Isabelle on the way. She reached out and grabbed his face, laying a big, fat kiss on his cheek.

"Ew, Izzy!" He swiped his hand across his face as if her kiss may actually melt through his skin.

"Bye, Max." Isabelle smiled and wiggled her fingers at him.

He scowled and turned away, disappearing into the crowd of kids.

Isabelle plopped into her seat, a satisfied smirk on her face.

"Izzy, that wasn't very nice." Clary said in a chiding voice. "Your brother happens to be very sweet."

"Of course he is, Clary, he's nine." Isabelle dug through her bag again.

Jace caught Clary's eyes in the rearview mirror once more and she winked. He pursed his lips to hide his smile and pulled out of the parking lot. On the short drive to the high school, Isabelle blathered on and on about a bunch of uninteresting crap that Jace just tuned out. He didn't have enough room in his mind for any of her junk with the persistent images running through his mind, and Max's last statement. It made him wonder, what should he call Clary? What did she think of their little situation? Neither of them seemed to know what to make of this new "development" in their relationship. He guessed they'd have to discuss that at some point. That is if he could ever get her alone again.

It frustrated the hell out of him not to just be able to go to her whenever he wanted. But the roadblocks that were Jocelyn and Isabelle were too big and highly annoying for either of them to cross at that time. Of course, that didn't stop him from wishing he could grab her and pull her to him instead of looking like such an uncaring assdouche all the time. As completely male chauvinist as he knew it was, he wanted to stake his claim, show them all who she was with, like some kind of barbarian or some crap. He wasn't an idiot or blind for that matter and knew Verlac had it bad for Clary. From the repulsive garbage he spewed in the locker room to his very pathetically obvious advances, Jace knew it wouldn't be long before Sebastian was encroaching on his territory. _Territory? Seriously?_ What was she, a possession now?

As soon as Jace put the car in park, Isabelle bolted from her seat, tossed her bag over her head and ran through the drizzle to the front doors, yelling something about wet hair and frizz. Jace didn't care, but thought it a bit rude since Clary was supposed to be her friend and all. But more so, he appreciated the few extra moments he had alone with her. Well, as alone as they could be in a busy parking lot full of their classmates. Fortunately, because of the increasing tempo of the rain, none of them seemed the least bit interested in anything going around them except making it as quickly as possible to the front doors.

Suddenly, the back of his seat jolted and Clary climbed up over the center console, plopping down in the passenger seat. She looked over at him and grinned.

"I felt like a loser sitting in the back like a little kid when there was a perfectly good empty seat right here." She patted the seat and pulled her bag into her lap, rummaging through the front pocket.

"Hmm," Jace said as he reached over and pulled the hood from her head, revealing her long, red, braids. "It's probably a good thing you came up here because I had half a mind to crawl back there and join you."

She glanced up at him, her eyes wide. "Really? Do you want me to go back there? Because if that's the case, I will."

Jace's heart sped at the thought. He swallowed back on the urge to take her up on it and shook his head, forcing a smile. "As tempting as that sounds, I'm not sure this is the place for that."

"Then where is the place for that, because I want to go there right now," she said, leaning slightly over the console toward him. "You see," she traced her finger along his forearm, much in the same way Kaelie had, but instead of making him cringe away, it made him want to draw closer, "there is this really cute boy who kissed me on Friday and then again on Saturday morning, but I haven't gotten to really kiss him since then." She lifted her gaze to his. "I want to kiss him again."

Jace exhaled loudly and pulled away, gripping the steering wheel with both hands in order to stop himself from grabbing her right then and there. "Jesus, Clary. Are you trying to kill me? I _am_ a hormone ridden teenage boy with only so tight of a hold on my self control, you know."

She giggled. "I know. Sorry."

He glanced back at her. "Soon. We'll figure something out soon, okay?"

She nodded. "But, in the meantime . . ." Reaching into her bag she pulled out a small silver object and handed it to him.

He wrapped his fingers around it and hers, lingering for a few moments longer than he normally would just to feel her skin against his. After pulling away reluctantly, he looked down and frowned. "A phone?"

"Yeah, my cell phone. Do you have one?"

"Yes." He braced himself and lifted his butt off the seat, slipping his black cell out of his back pocket.

"Let me see it," she said.

He handed it over.

Taking it from him, she started punching in numbers. After a moment, the phone in his hand buzzed and then quit.

Clary grinned up at him, holding his phone out to him. "There now I have your number and you have mine." She shrugged. "We can talk or text whenever we want now."

He smiled and took his phone back, handing her hers. "Ingenious, Pippi."

"Yeah, well. I am pretty darn intelligent."

"And not the least bit smug either."

"Of course not." She smirked. "And you're one to talk."

"Hey," he held his hand up, "I've readily admitted to being a self-important ass. What's your excuse?"

She screwed her lips to the side and peered up at him from under her lashes. "Maybe I spend too much time with your self-important ass and your arrogance is rubbing off on me."

"Entirely possibly." He reached over and opened the door, climbed out, and then pulled the seat forward to grab his bag. Before moving back out, he looked up at Clary from behind the driver's seat. "Maybe you should get out before I have you fully ensnared in my woman-luring trap."

Clary glanced around the parking lot, then leaned back, her face only inches from his. "Too late," she darted forward and pecked him ever so softly on the lips, "I'm already completely and utterly ensnared, Mr. Wayland."

.o.O.o.

Jace and Clary made it into the building just as the sky opened and poured all its wrath on the lagging students. They stumbled through the door, both laughing and dripping. Jace shook his head, spraying Clary with the cool water. She shoved him away with a yelp, even though what she really wanted to do was jump up on him and kiss him until she couldn't breathe. Something about all those drenched golden curls hanging in his face did strange things to her.

"I knew I should have brought my umbrella," Clary said, dragging the sopping wet hood from her head and unzipping her hoodie as they walked down the hall.

"At least you had that on." Jace pointed to the yellow sweatshirt she was in the middle of pulling off. "You could've just been in a t-shirt like me."

"Yeah, but now it's wet and I'm going to freeze all day." She slipped the hoodie off and folded it over her arms with a sigh, shivering as the chilly air bit at her bare arms.

Jace stopped and swung his bag around in front of him, unzipped it, and pulled out his black practice hoodie. "Here."

Clary glanced up at him, and shook her head. "I can't take that. What are you going to wear?" She gestured to his soaked shirt, which she now noticed clung deliciously to his torso.

"I have another shirt in my locker for after practice. I'll put that on."

Clary glanced down the hall toward Isabelle who seemed to be having a lively discussion with Simon, her arms flailing and her head bouncing. "What about Isabelle? She'll know this is yours."

Jace leaned forward and placed the sweatshirt in her hand. "Stop worrying so much. This is innocent."

She studied him for a moment and when she was satisfied she saw no worry in his eyes, she took the shirt, pulling it over her head. Warmth and the scent of Jace surrounded her instantly. She inhaled deeply through her nose and closed her eyes, smiling.

"Did you just sniff my shirt?"

"Yep," she said, opening her eyes. "It smells like you."

"Oh really? And what do I smell like? Please tell me it isn't something gross."

She laughed. "No, not gross. Really good actually. It just smells like," she sniffed at the collar, "you."

"Hmm. Well, maybe if you smell like me, other guys will keep their distance."

Clary raised a brow and peered up at him. "What? Are you marking your territory now?"

He shrugged and grinned.

"You're not going to pee on me or anything, are you?"

Jace laughed. "Not unless you want me to."

"Ugh. That's gross."

"What's gross?" Sebastian's voice came from behind, just as Clary felt a warm arm slip over her shoulder.

Jace's eyes wandered to Sebastian's arm and immediately grew dark. Clary turned abruptly in surprise, jerking out from under Sebastian's hand.

"Oh, hey, Sebastian. Um, nothing's gross—well, the school cafeteria food—nothing important." She forced a smile, knowing she sounded like a complete tool just then. But he'd caught her off guard and she'd seen the look in Jace's eyes.

"That's true." He smiled and raised his gaze to Jace. "Oh, hey, Wayland. Nice job, again, on Saturday." His eyes fell back to Clary. "You should have seen this guy this weekend. He was totally on fire. I don't know what happened to him between practice on Thursday and Saturday's game but whatever it was I hope he's able to recreate it for this weekend's game."

"Really?" Clary turned to Jace and raised a brow. He fought back a grin. "I'm sorry I missed it." She bit her lip and Jace's mouth opened slightly. Holding back a giggle, she faced Sebastian again. "I'll have to try and make it this weekend."

He smiled. "That'd be great. If you need a ride, I'm going with my parents so we could pick you up." She heard the hopeful tone in his voice and felt a small pang of guilt.

"Oh," she said. "Well, I wouldn't want to cause your parents any trouble having to come out to my house. I'm sure I could get a ride with the Lightwood's." She looked back at Jace for confirmation.

He shrugged nonchalantly, but his eyes told her a completely different story.

"Are you sure?" Sebastian asked. "It's really no problem."

Clary smiled, trying to smooth the tension she felt coming from both boys. "Yes, I'm sure. Thank you, though."

"Okay." He reached out and lightly fingered one of Clary's braids before flicking it behind her shoulder, smiling, and walking away. "Later, Wayland," Sebastian called over his shoulder.

Slowly, Clary turned back to Jace, hoping that little exchange hadn't upset him. When she met his eyes, she saw that he'd completely wiped them of any emotion whatsoever. No anger, no jealousy, no annoyance. Nothing.

She sighed. "Jace . . ."

He straightened up. "We'd better get to class before we're both late." He turned and started toward his locker.

"Hold on," she said, trying to keep up with him and his long legged strides. " Jace, would you just wait!"

He stopped and pivoted toward her. "What?"

"You don't have to be upset," she whispered, trying to keep their conversation from any nearby gossips."

He stared at her blankly. "Why would I be upset?"

She raised her hands to her forehead and rubbed her temples as if she were in pain. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Shut everything off the minute you feel a little threatened."

He huffed and glanced down the hall toward his locker. Narrowing his eyes, he glanced back at her. "You don't have to be so nice to him, you know. You'll just give him the wrong impression and he'll keep trying."

Clary opened her mouth to speak when she heard, "What the hell is going on with you two?" She turned and found Isabelle and Simon standing just behind her.

"Nothing." She moved away from Jace and closer to Isabelle. "Nothing at all."

Jace shook his head, turned back in the direction of his locker, and walked away. Clary watched him move, her heart growing heavier with each step he took. She didn't want to argue with him and she most definitely didn't want him shutting her out. Apparently, he had a pretty decent jealous streak—something she'd have to take into consideration and get used to if she wanted to be with him. But what was she supposed to do? She wasn't a rude person, so it wasn't like she could just tell Sebastian to back off. He hadn't done anything wrong, and if she was being totally honest, he'd never been anything but nice to her.

Clary focused back on Isabelle and Simon. Isabelle studied her intently. "What?" she asked.

"Is—" Isabelle pointed at Clary's chest. "Is that Jace's?"

Clary lowered her gaze, her cheeks burning immediately. "Oh, yeah. Mine got soaked and all I was wearing underneath was a tanktop. I was cold, so he let me borrow it."

"But—but that's his favorite."

Clary looked down again. "It is?"

Isabelle nodded and met Clary's gaze. "What the hell is wrong with him today?"

"Why do you think something's wrong with him?" Clary asked, shocked. That certainly wasn't the response she'd been expecting.

Isabelle beckoned her to follow after they both said goodbye to Simon. "I don't know. He's just been so weird this morning. First of all, he took forever getting ready and Jace never does that. Then he just sort of—flipped, or something when we got in the car. Now I see you two looking like you're in the middle of an argument and you're wearing his shirt."

Clary swallowed, hoping Isabelle wasn't putting two and two together.

"It's like he's hot one minute and cold the next. Almost like he was back—" Her wide eyes met Clary's.

"Back?" Clary hedged, curious and slightly frightened.

Isabelle shook her head. "Sorry, never mind. It's nothing." She looked away and made her way toward homeroom in quiet contemplation. Even though she tried to erase the concern from her demeanor, Clary could still see it in the tiny lines above her brow.

Anxiety prickled Clary's skin. Had Jace acted this way in the past? Was it something bad and that was why Isabelle looked so worried? Clary hadn't been privy to whatever happened before she'd seen him in the car, so she didn't know what Isabelle was talking about. But she did see the immediate mood change with Sebastian. She'd considered it normal male jealousy, but could it have been something more? Something more serious?

As soon as Clary sat down, she heard a buzz coming from her backpack. Plopping it on her lap, she dug through the front pocket until her fingers closed around the vibrating phone. She flipped it open and read the new text.

_I'm sorry. No excuse. I'm an asstard. ~J_

Clary sighed, but allowed a small smile to tweak her lips.

_Yes, you are. But I'll forgive you, just this once. ~C_

She waited for a few moments before the phone buzzed in her hand once more.

_Thanks, Pippi. ~J_

_You're welcome, Goldie. ~C_

Clary closed the phone and went to slip it in her pocket, when she felt it vibrate again. Opening it once more, she read his words.

_One more thing . . . I really like those braids. ~J_

Clary smiled, closed the phone, and held it against her lips for a moment, letting out a breathy laugh. Isabelle gave her a strange look, but Clary just waved her off. But no matter how hard she tried, Clary couldn't wipe the stupid smile from her face all through class.


	16. Sundown

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

* * *

_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

* * *

_**Chapter 16: Sundown**_

_**Bent - Matchbox 20 _

_**Shattered - Trading Yesterday _

_**My Sundown - Jimmy Eat World *Lyrics to Sundown owned by Jimmy Eat World_

_**Syndicate - The Fray_

* * *

"Damn it, Verlac! Stay on sides for Christ's sake," Jace said, walking back toward center field as the opposing players positioned themselves behind the ball.

"Can it, Wayland. I am. It was a bad call." Sebastian trailed behind just slightly.

"Which time? This specific one, or the other four times you were called today?" Jace shook his head. "I swear to God, I'm going to knock you on your ass if you don't pay attention."

He knew he was having a total girl fit, and it was just a practice scrimmage, but he'd had it with Sebastian. The fact that Sebastian had just been moved up to starting left forward was just the catalyst for a much bigger matter—the issue of Sebastian shamelessly throwing himself at Clary the entire week. Logically, Jace knew it wasn't Sebastian's fault since no one knew about himself and Clary. But that didn't stop him from taking his possessive jealousies out on him whenever he could. Yep, that made him a douche of the highest order, but he couldn't seem to muster the energy to care.

Jace had been dying for a reason to wail on Sebastian since the arm slinging incident on Monday. Add to that each and every time he spotted him waiting at Clary's locker or plopping his ass down next to her at lunch. In his mind, the guy was hitting on _his_ girl—it didn't matter that he didn't know, or that Jace and Clary hadn't even discussed the specifics of what they were to each other yet. Semantics.

"What's your problem, Wayland? You've been on me all week."

As much as Jace wanted to give him the rundown on all the reasons why he had the irrational urge to rearrange his face, he knew he couldn't. "You think this is me being on you? Keep it up and I'll show you exactly what that means, Verlac."

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, a slightly exasperated look on his face. It probably should have made Jace feel bad for being such an ass, but as with anything, it didn't.

"Sorry," Sebastian said. "I'm just distracted."

What the hell could he have to be distracted about?

"Whatever. Just save it for when you're not on the field." Jace shrugged off the curiosity he felt over what could possibly distract Sebastian from what was going on around him. He sincerely hoped whatever it was did not look especially tempting with long, red Pippi Longstocking braids or he'd have to go back on his self imposed "do not mess up Sebastian" vow.

"Verlac! Wayland! Problem?" Coach Daley's voice thundered from the sidelines.

"No Coach," Sebastian answered. Jace remained silent.

"Good. Keep it that way or you'll both be running laps."

"Suck up," Jace muttered.

"What? You want to run laps?" Sebastian whisper shouted.

Jace shrugged, truthfully not caring at that point. He was a soccer player; running was second nature to him and the threat of it as a punishment was laughable. At least the physical activity kept his frustration at bay. Ever since the night of the dance, he'd felt an overwhelming sense of anxiety he couldn't shake. He knew being with Clary would be difficult, but just how difficult he'd never realized. Not that it should have come as a surprise. Clary was a good girl: sweet, innocent, and caring. And he, well, he wasn't. In fact, he was the exact opposite of all of those things. He was not good, sweet, caring, and he definitely wasn't innocent. His conscience told him he shouldn't even entertain the idea of being with her, corrupting her, but he couldn't stay away. Something about the way she looked at him made him wonder if maybe he wasn't a lost cause after all. No one had ever looked at him the way she did, like he was something special. Even the Lightwoods looked at him with a sense of pity, sadness. It had been such a long time since Jace felt anything outside of anger. But she made him feel—more. He wasn't entirely comfortable with it all, but the fact that he felt _something_ was intriguing.

After practice ended, Jace sat on the bench inside the locker room tying his shoes after showering and changing, when Sebastian and another member of the team came out of the showers.

"So what did she say?" the other guy, Tim, asked while running a towel through his dark, wet hair.

Sebastian sighed and opened a locker a few down from Jace. "I don't know, nothing much. It's like she's avoiding. Maybe she's seeing someone."

"Maybe you should ask—hey, don't you live next door to Fray's sister, Wayland?"

Jace didn't look up, fearing his face would betray him. "Yeah, so?"

"Come on man, help a guy out," Tim said. "Does the girl have a guy friend or not?"

Jace stood, snatched his bag from his locker, and slammed it shut before facing his two teammates. He did not want to talk about Clary with those two asshats. Tim stood with a smug smile stretching across his face as Sebastian looked down at the ground, his cheeks pink. Jace almost felt sorry for him—almost, but not really. "How the hell am I supposed to know that?" The crazy thing was, he actually didn't know the answer to that question.

Seriously, he probably should, but he and Clary hadn't had that particular "discussion" yet. He knew that soon they would have to establish what exactly this was between them_,_ but hell, he didn't really want to have that conversation through texts or on the phone, and finding time together was nearly impossible with their schedules. Jace had practice every night except Friday's, and Clary had worked at her mother's shop almost every day that week as well. If he was the sort to be paranoid, he may have thought Jocelyn had an idea of their relationship and was deliberately trying to keep them apart. Then there was Isabelle. Damn Isabelle. Why couldn't she get involved in some sort of extracurricular that took her away in the evenings? She seemed to dominate all of Clary's evening time until her curfew. It was really starting to grate at his nerves.

"Well, maybe you've noticed someone coming and going . . ." Tim waved his hand in front of him in a motion that suggested, "and so on."

Jace scowled. "Yeah, because I have nothing better to do with my time than spy on my neighbor." He glanced at Sebastian. "If Verlac wants to know, maybe he should ask her instead of whining about it like a little girl."

Tim snorted and thumped Sebastian on the back. "Yeah man, you are starting to sound a little pathetic."

Sebastian shoved Tim against the row of lockers.

Tim just laughed and turned to Jace. "So, what did you do to Kaelie? She's following you around like a lovesick puppy." He shook his head. "I've been trying to get with that for like a year."

Jace looked Tim up and down with a raised brow, fighting back an eye roll. "I can't for the life of me see why you haven't succeeded."

Tim gave him a dumb look, not catching the insult.

Jace sighed and slung his bag over his shoulder. "Maybe you should treat her like crap and then ignore her. That's what I've done and she won't get off my ass."

"I wish she'd get on my ass." Tim looked up at the ceiling dreamily.

"You're an idiot," Sebastian said with a grin as he turned to the locker in front of him and pulled out his gym bag.

"What?" Tim said. "It's not like you don't think that way about Fray, Verlac. You're always all "Clary this, and Clary that." He raised his arm to his face and started slobbering all over it.

"Shut up, you meathead." Sebastian shoved him again.

"Good God, I sincerely hope that isn't how you kiss real girls." Jace gave Tim a disgusted look.

Tim looked up. "What? What's wrong with it?"

Sebastian laughed, shook his head, and finished putting his clothes back on.

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response," Jace said and turned toward the outer doors, needing to get out of there before either of them said something about Clary that would make him lose it. Pushing them open, he stepped out into the bright sunlight. In his periphery, he caught sight of a flash of red. Turning toward the field, he spotted her, sitting on the bleachers, her head down and body hunched over her lap. With a grin, he moved toward the field, stopping when he reached the bottom row of the bleachers. She didn't look up.

He cleared his throat and she started at the sound. But when she saw him, a smile slowly spread over her lips.

"So, Pippi. Waiting for someone?"

"Maybe." She stood and made her way down the bleachers, her feet clattering against the metal seats. When she reached the step just above where he stood, she leaned toward him and whispered. "I heard a rumor that there's this really hot new player. I just wanted to come check him out."

"Really?" He raised his hand to his chin, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger and looking toward the locker room doors. Turning back and moving his face even closer to hers, he said, "You know, most of the team is still in the locker room if you want me to sneak you in. Maybe you can find this new 'hot guy.'"

"I don't think that'll be necessary." She came even nearer, her breath brushing over his cheeks. "You'll do." She grinned, pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, and bent down to him. Just before her lips touched his, the locker room door banged open and they wrenched apart.

A group of loud boys filtered out, none of them turning toward the field or paying any attention to Clary and Jace.

"We should get out of here," Jace said, stepping back from the bleachers to let her down while keeping his eyes on the door.

She nodded and flung her backpack over her shoulders. "Do you need to go straight home?"

"No." He glanced down at her. "Do you?"

She shook her head and smiled up at him. "I finally have an afternoon off."

"Finally, huh?"

"Yeah. I know I haven't been around much. My mom added a few more classes and she needed help getting stuff ready for them."

"It's okay." He walked beside her, his hands stuffed in his pockets, although what he really wanted was to reach out and take hers. "I've had practice all week anyway."

Clary let out a slow breath and kept her gaze forward. "This is frustrating, isn't it?"

He laughed. "Yes."

Groups of students milled around, leaving after school group activities and sports practices. Several kids gave them strange looks as they walked by, probably because they seemed so incredibly different from one another. Jace, a popular athlete and Clary, a nobody artist. They definitely weren't a match anyone would suspect. Jace smiled at the thought. He liked that they didn't conform to the high school form of coupledom. It wasn't a secret to either of them that they were different from the outer personas most other people saw.

They stayed silent as they crossed the parking lot. Clary paused when they reached the sidewalk and glanced back toward the school.

"Where's your car?"

"Robert needed it so he took it this morning."

"Oh, so you're walking?"

He nodded.

"Wanna go to the park?" She looked down at her feet, her cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. "I've missed hanging out with you. I'm not ready to leave yet."

Jace chuckled and she looked up at him, her brows furrowed.

"What?"

He shook his head and gestured for her to keep walking. "Why is it that back there," he cocked his thumb over his shoulder toward the fields, "you can be so seductive and flirty, but you blush just asking me to hang out?"

"Shut up. I'm no good at this stuff."

"Yes, you are. Better than you think."

After a minute, she gazed up at him and smirked.

"What?" he asked.

"Seductive, huh?"

He nodded. "Very."

She smiled wider and focused on the street in front of them.

He chuckled. "Don't get a big head, now."

She laughed. "Why not? Yours is already huge so even if mine gets a little inflated yours will still be bigger."

Within moments, they'd reached the edge of the small park next to the cemetery. Most of the children played on a large, plastic play set shaped like a pirate ship the city built on the side furthest from the cemetery. They ran and squealed as they climbed the steps, jogged across the bridge, and slid down the covered slide. The swings on the opposite side stood empty. Jace and Clary crossed to them, dropping their bags near the poles and sat, Clary facing the cemetery and Jace facing the park. Clary twisted in the swing until the chain was braided all the way to the top, allowing herself to spin quickly as she raised her feet from the ground. When she stopped, she kept her eyes fixed on the ground, her face suddenly downcast.

Jace turned toward her and grabbed her swing, pulling her closer to him. "What's the matter?"

She sighed, looked up and met his gaze for a moment before her eyes flicked toward the cemetery, and back to the ground. "Jonathan's birthday is tomorrow."

Jace said nothing, knowing how much empty words of sympathy didn't help. Instead, he reached over, drew a rogue curl from her face, and tucked it behind her ear.

Clary glanced back at him, her forehead creased with emotion. "I feel better, you know? I mean, every day I feel stronger, like maybe that could be the day that I could finally cross the barriers I set for myself." She sighed, looked down, and kicked at the dirt groove beneath the swing. "But each time I try, I fail. I still can't go in his room. I still can't go to his grave." Closing her eyes, she raised her face. "I just want to be able to do those things. I just want to feel close to him again, and I can't do it." She opened her eyes and gazed at the cemetery.

Jace saw the longing in her face. He could see how much she wanted to overcome those hurdles, how much she needed to feel like she was past that part of the grieving process. Standing from his swing, he stepped in front of her and squatted down. His eyes rose to hers and she looked at him with curiosity.

"Maybe you can't because you've been trying to do it all alone." He stood and held out his hand out to her. "You don't have to do anything alone anymore."

Clary looked up at him, her eyes wide with understanding. She swallowed visibly and slowly raised her hand, slipping it carefully in his, her fingers lacing through and locking them tightly together.

.o.O.o.

With Jace's hand firmly grasped in hers, Clary stood before the large iron gates of the city cemetery. Her heart pounded against her ribs and the blood rushing through her veins roared in her ears. She felt herself trembling, but had no way to stop it.

Jace leaned over and whispered, "We don't have to go any further today if you're not ready."

Clary shook her head. "I want to go." She glanced up and met his golden eyes. "I need to go."

He studied her for a moment before nodding and reaching forward to cup her cheek with his other hand. Bending down, he touched her lips softly with his. "I'm here."

She closed her eyes as he rested his forehead against hers, and let out a slow breath. "I know." Opening them again, she turned toward the gate. "Let's go."

Taking a tentative step forward, Clary crossed the threshold and entered the cemetery. Perfectly manicured green grass peppered with headstones stretched out before her. A chill shot down her spine and she gripped Jace's hand harder. He gave hers a supportive squeeze. With a deep breath, she started down the gravel path, her footsteps crunching against the loose stone. Somehow, she knew exactly what direction to go even though she'd only been there once before. It was almost as if she could feel Jonathan's presence calling to her, showing her the way.

They followed the winding path up the hill until they came to a crossroads. Turning to her left, Clary led them to a smaller section near a large weeping willow. Its branches swayed in the breeze, the leaves making a rustling sound as they rubbed against one another. The smell of freshly cut grass permeated the air and several birds chirped from the branches of the tree. A few yards away stood a small wood sided maintenance shed. Various landscaping tools and a weed eater sat propped up against the closed door. A few workers trimmed hedges and clipped grass nearby.

Clary walked to the edge of the path facing the tree and stopped. The bright white stone stood out stark and new against the vivid green surroundings. Thick, plush grass covered the ground in front of it, and even though Clary knew it would, the sight still startled her since the last time she'd been there, only a hole occupied the space. Her breath hitched and she closed her eyes before forcing herself forward. The grass squished under the soles of her shoes, a much more comfortable feeling than the sharp gravel.

When she reached the edge of the grave, she let go of Jace's hand and took a few more steps forward. An overwhelming pressure swelled in her chest, making it hard to breathe, but still, she moved ahead. Just before she reached the headstone, she stopped, her legs no longer allowing movement. They trembled beneath her, threatening every moment she stood there of giving in. Finally, they did, forcing her to her knees a few steps before the headstone. Even though the grass was soft, pain still shot through her knees and followed the nerves up into her thighs. But not even that could rival the unwavering agony in her heart.

Leaning forward, she touched her forehead to the cool, hard stone, her fingers tracing the letters of his name as she tried to control her emotions. She didn't want to cry. Not because Jace was there, but because she knew Jonathan wouldn't want that. Wouldn't want this to be so hard for her.

"I know it's not until tomorrow," she whispered to the granite, "but I wanted to tell you happy birthday." Her voice caught at the end. "I'm sorry I haven't come before now. I just—I couldn't. I hope you're not upset, but I'm here now and I'm—" her throat clenched, "so sorry." She finished just as a sob choked her and she couldn't contain her tears any longer.

Her hands slid down the smooth front of the headstone and she lowered herself face down into the soft grass. She fisted her palms into it and wept harder than she ever had before. Harder than the night of the accident, harder than at the funeral, harder than all the times she couldn't open his door or enter the cemetery. Each wave of grief, higher and larger than the last, crashed over and pulled her deeper into the despair she'd avoided all those months.

She sensed him all around this place—in the wind flowing through her hair, in the sunshine warming her skin, in the songs of the birds flittering above. Every sound was filled with his voice, every smell with his unique scent, every physical sensation with his touch. It overwhelmed and gutted her at the same time. She embraced and repelled it in equal measure. The need to be there, wrapped up in him and his spirit, overshadowed her desperate need to run away, to shelter her heart from the pain ripping it apart.

After a moment, she felt a hand on the back of her head. A touch so gentle, so soothing, she had to look up. When she met Jace's eyes, they didn't look at her with pity or sympathy. They looked at her with understanding. A deep, painful comprehension. He knew she wasn't looking for someone to tell her they were sorry. She needed someone who knew to say nothing, to just be there. And he was.

Suddenly, she just needed him to hold her, to give her something tangible and good and warm to cling to.

She sat up and flung her arms around him, burying her tear-stained face into his neck. He pulled her to him, holding her tightly against his body, one hand stretched across her back and the other still on her head.

"I miss him," she said into his shoulder.

"I know." He pressed his lips to the top of her head.

The pain swelled inside until it was almost too much to bear. But the harder her sobs grew, the tighter Jace held her. He didn't speak, didn't try to calm her down. He just let her cry, because he knew that was what she needed. Somehow, someday, all that anguish needed to come out and she guessed it was starting today.

Clary didn't know how long they sat beside Jonathan's grave with her clutching Jace for dear life. All she knew was that she was tired, so tired. Her body felt waterlogged, limp. She tried to move away, but she didn't even have the energy to lift her head. Finally, she felt Jace shift beneath her. She tried to move again but it was almost as if she had no strength left.

"It's all right," he said. "I've got you."

She felt him throw both their bags over his shoulder and lift her into his arms, cradling her gently to his chest. Part of her wanted to protest, to insist she could walk, but she couldn't even open her mouth to speak. She felt bad that he'd have to carry her the two blocks to her house.

"I can walk," she said weakly when she finally found her voice.

He chuckled, the feel of it vibrated against her. "I really don't think you can. You feel like a big pile of jello."

"Is that your polite way of calling me jiggly?"

"I plead the fifth."

"I'm going to hit you when I get my strength back."

He laughed again. "I'll look forward to that."

Jace hung to the shadows once they got back to their houses. Luckily, the sun had set sometime between the time they'd left the cemetery and arrived home. Clary couldn't be certain since she'd had her face buried in Jace's neck nearly the whole way.

"Is your mom home?" he asked.

"No."

"Okay." He hurried up the porch steps and paused in front of the door. "Where's your key?"

"There's one above the door frame." She really wished she felt strong enough to stand because she was starting to feel like a major tool.

Jace juggled all her weight onto one arm and reached up, running his fingers along the frame above the door. Clary heard the clink of metal as he found it. He lowered his hand and shoved the key in the lock, twisting until it clicked. After opening the door and replacing the key, he swept his arm under her legs once more and carried her over the threshold, kicking the door shut behind them.

He navigated her dark home quite easily, most likely due to the fact his was laid out exactly the same except flip-flopped. Clary clung tighter to him as he made his way up the stairs, not even protesting when he took her straight into her room and laid her carefully on the bed. As he pulled back, Clary fisted her hand into his shirt, not allowing him to move away. He met her eyes, questions in his.

"Don't go. I don't want to be alone."

He furrowed his brow. "I could get Isabelle."

She shook her head. "I don't want Isabelle. I want you."

"Clary, I don't want your mom to catch me here."

"She won't be home until late. She's got a class and then a date afterward." Clary begged him with her eyes. "Please. Stay."

He studied her for a moment before nodding. "Okay. Just give me a second." Dropping their bags on the floor, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, pressing one of the buttons. After a few seconds he spoke, "Izzy. Tell mom I'll be late. Why do you care? Yeah—shut up and just tell her, all right? Whatever." He pressed a button and hung up the phone, smiling down at her.

"Do you two ever get along?"

"Not even a little bit." He kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the bed next to her, scooping her up into his arms and tucking her into his side.

Clary extended her arm across his chest, laying her palm flat over his heart, feeling it beat hard and strong against her. A small smile broke over her lips.

"Jace? Talk to me."

"About what?"

"I don't care. Something about you. Something happy. Anything. I just like listening to your voice."

"Something happy, huh?"

"Um hmm."

"Okay." His arm drew up around her, holding her tighter. "Let me think for a minute."

It didn't miss Clary's attention that he had to actually think about it before he could tell her something good about his life.

"Okay, I got it." He shifted and pulled his free hand up and tucked it under his head. "I don't know how old I was, but I was pretty young, maybe four. My mother took me into town and after an incessantly annoying amount of begging on my part, she took me to the local pet store. I remember they had a litter of new puppies and the owner would always let me play with them." His long fingers traced up and down Clary's arm, causing goosebumps to rise on her flesh. "I wanted one so bad, but my father refused. He was in the military and said it was too impractical to have a pet with how much we moved. Somewhere in my four-year-old brain, I understood that, but I still wanted one."

Clary hugged him closer, loving the insight she was getting into his former life, but feeling sad as well. At one point, he was happy. What happened to change all that?

"A few months later my father deployed again. I remember being sad and missing him. Which, now that I think about it, seems so strange because he was such an ass. He was very anal, kind of OCD, and a huge clean-freak. It drove him absolutely insane when anything was misplaced or things were not just so. My mother was a lot more relaxed. She didn't care so much about making sure everything was in its right place or whatever. So, they argued a lot about that. I remember that."

Clary stayed silent, never interrupting him to ask questions for fear he would stop, and she wanted to know as much as he was willing to tell her.

"Anyway, right after he left, my mother took me back to the pet store. The owner received a new litter just a few days before. They sat me right in the pen with them and those five little puppies jumped all over, barking and licking me. I thought it was the greatest thing ever." He laughed. "Then, my mother told me to pick one. I remember looking at her like she was joking but she just shook her head and told me every boy needed a dog and to take my pick. So I did. There was a black one that was really hyper and I wanted him. I told my mother his name was Patches."

Finally, Clary asked a question. "Why Patches?"

She felt him shrug. "I don't know, I was young and not really creative when it came to naming a dog. Plus, one of the families on our block had a dog named Patches and he was a badass. I wanted a badass dog too. I guess I figured he'd be one if I named him Patches."

Clary laughed at his four-year-old rationalization.

"So, we took Patches home and I played with that dog every waking moment of every day. My mom helped me train him since I wouldn't have had a clue how to do that at my age. We took him for walks, played fetch, and chased him down the block when he got off his chain. He slept in my bed every night." Jace's hand moved from Clary's arm to her hair, brushing through it with gentle strokes. "It was the best summer I can remember."

Clary smiled at the happiness in his voice.

"But then my father came home. He got really angry when he saw my mother had disregarded his feelings on the whole pet issue. I fell asleep with Patches in my arms to the sound of them arguing." Jace let out a slow breath. "When I woke up in the morning, Patches was not in my bed. I remember calling for him, but he didn't come. I got up and found my mother crying in the living room. When I asked her what was wrong she just looked at me and said we had to get rid of Patches. That father had taken him to the local shelter."

A bubble of anger grew in Clary's chest. Why would his father have been so cruel? Why couldn't he have just let his son be happy? It had to have been hard enough, moving around all the time. Why couldn't he have one constant?

"When my father returned from taking Patches, he came to my room and found me crying on my bed. He made me sit up and told me to wipe my eyes and to stop crying. He said it was 'irresponsible' for people in our position—I assume he meant with how much we moved—to form attachments to anyone or anything. Because, who knew when we'd have to leave again. He told me it was best that I learn that lesson then instead of later when it would be so much worse." Jace's movements on Clary's hair ceased. "That was the last time I cried. The last time I let anyone or anything in, because I never wanted to feel that again."

Clary took in a sharp breath. "That was not a happy story."

Jace chuckled. "Sure it was. Not all happy stories have a happy ending, Clary."

Clary sighed into his chest. "Well, they should."

"Maybe so. But they don't." He kissed the top of her head and fell silent.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Don't be. It was a long time ago."

Clary sighed. "He was wrong, you know."

"Was he?"

"Yes, he was."

Jace didn't speak again.

Clary closed her eyes and laid there for a long time, just listening to the sound of his breathing and the beating of his heart. At some point, she must have fallen asleep because when she opened her eyes again, the lamp on her nightstand was on and Jace was softly singing to himself. Lying completely still, she listened to him just as she did every night, only this time, not only could she hear, but she could feel the music moving through him. It vibrated against her hand and her cheek, lulling her into peace and contentment.

_*I see it around me, I see it in everything_

_I could be so much more than this_

She had the urge to pull him closer, tighter, but she didn't want him to stop singing either. Hearing him always made her feel better, safe. She couldn't explain how or why, she just knew it did.

_I said my goodbyes, this is my sundown_

_I'm gonna be so much more than this_

_With one hand high, you'll show them your progress_

_You'll take your time, but no one cares_

_No one cares, no one cares_

Clary wondered if all the songs he sang related to how he felt. She'd noticed when he looked more depressed, he sang more depressing songs. If that was true, what did he feel then? Inadequate? Uncared for?

_I need you to show me the way from crazy_

_I wanna be so much more than this_

_With one hand high, you'll show them your purpose_

_You'll take your time, but no one cares_

Unable to control herself any longer she squeezed him gently. His singing stopped.

"Hey, you're awake."

"Um hmm."

"Sorry." She felt his lips brush against the top of her head. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"You didn't." She snuggled in closer. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

"What you were singing."

"Oh." He drew his hand up and lightly ran his fingers through her hair. "Just a song. Nothing special."

"I liked it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She paused. "Jace? Can I ask you something?"

"Sure. I guess."

"How are you feeling?"

His hand stilled on her hair. "Shouldn't I be asking you that question?"

Clary sighed. "I'm feeling—tired, but better. Now answer mine."

"Right now? Hmm . . . well, I'm kind of hungry, and my arm is falling asleep."

Clary pushed herself up onto one elbow, freeing his trapped arm, meeting his eyes and giving a look that clearly said, _be serious. _

He grinned. "I feel the same as usual."

"And what's that?"

He shrugged and dropped his gaze. "Fine, I guess."

Clary sighed and inched up so her face hovered level with his. "You know or you guess?"

"I don't know, Clary." He sighed. "I'm fine."

She let out a frustrated breath and flopped back onto the pillow next to him. "If your usual feeling is 'fine,' why do you always sing such sad songs?"

Jace laughed, shaking the bed beneath them. "Is that what this is about? You think I sing sad songs because I'm sad?" Propping himself up on one arm, he gazed down on her. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just like the song?"

She studied him carefully, her eyes roaming over every facet of his face. "Yes," she said quietly, "and if that was the only reason, I'd believe you. But it's not just that." Raising her hands tentatively to give him enough notice that she wanted to touch him, she placed her palms over his cheeks, cupping his face between them. "I can see it, here." She ran her thumbs over the barely discernable creases on his forehead. "And here." Lowering them to his eyes, she lightly touched his closed eyelids. "And here," she whispered, brushing her fingertips along the curve of his mouth.

He released a shaky breath as he opened his eyes and met her gaze once more. "Sometimes, yes, I sing things that reflect my mood, but I really am okay today."

"And the rest of the week?" She dropped her hands from his face.

He closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair before opening them again. "I don't know. I was—kind of anxious, I guess."

"Why?"

He raised his brows. "Why? I don't know, maybe because I have no idea what I'm doing."

Clary frowned. "What do you mean?"

"This," Jace pointed to himself and then her, "us. I have no idea what's going on right now."

Clary's heart quickened and she spoke quietly. "What do you want to be going on right now?"

"I want—" his eyes wavered between hers, searching her face for something, although she had no idea what, "you," he breathed. "I want you to be mine. Just mine." He lowered his face, resting his forehead against hers. "I'm a possessive, jealous ass, apparently, and it drove me insane watching Verlac throwing himself at you all week. Especially since I had no idea what was going on here or if you even wanted—"

Clary reached up and grabbed his face, causing his eyes to widen slightly. "I want," she said. "I really, really want."

Jace froze for a moment before letting out a slow breath. "Okay, but let me warn you. I've never done the whole relationship thing and I may be horribly incompetent at it."

"You? Incompetent at something? I highly doubt that," Clary teased.

A small grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. "That's true. I am normally freakishly good at everything. Being someone's boyfriend should be a piece of cake, right?"

Clary's stomach squirmed when he called himself her boyfriend. "That remains to be seen."

"Are you doubting my skills?"

"Maybe."

"Hmm. Well, I'm just going to have to do something about that, aren't I?"

"You most certainly will. But first, can you promise me something?"

"What's that?" He reached up and removed her hand from his cheek, entwining his fingers in hers and pressing her hand into the mattress next to her head.

She swallowed against the butterflies having a party in her stomach. "Keep telling me things about yourself, like you did tonight. I want to know. Don't keep everything all bottled up. Talk to me. Please."

"I can promise you that I'll try. I'm not used to this, so that might take some time. Can you be okay with that?"

"Yes, as long as you try." Clary's lips tingled in anticipation as she focused on how close his were to her. "Jace?"

"Hmm?"

"Were you," she licked her lips and caught her bottom one between her teeth, "planning on kissing me anytime soon, or do you enjoy torturing me?"

His smile widened. "Yes and yes, but I'm waiting for you to sat it first."

She furrowed her brows. "Say what?"

He moved slowly toward her ear, his nose tracing the edge of her cheekbone. "That you're mine," he whispered. "Please. I just want to hear you say it."

A shudder ripped through Clary's body as the feel of him so close, the warmth of his breath, and the reality of what he was asking washed over her. She untangled her hand from his and raised both of her palms to his cheeks, pulling him back to her. Looking straight into his eyes she said, "I don't want anyone but you. Of course I'm yours."

He closed his eyes and lowered his forehead to hers once more. "Thank you," he whispered. "Now, close your eyes."

Clary did as he asked, holding her breath as she waited. It seemed like an eternity before his hands gently cupped her cheeks and his mouth touched hers, soft and barely there at first but becoming firmer and more forceful as his lips moved against hers. She trailed her fingers along his jaw, across his cheekbones, and up into the silky curls at the nape of his neck. His touch stayed light on her face, cradling her as if she were made of glass. She'd never felt more precious, more cared for, or more wanted than she did at that moment. She hoped she made him feel that way too. And that somehow, she could be the one to show him that a happy story should most definitely have a happy ending.


	17. Radiate

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

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_**Chapter 17: Radiate**_

_Chapter Songs:_

_**Little House by Amanda Seyfried _

_**Radiate by Puddle of Mudd_

_**A Modern Myth by 30 Seconds to Mars_

_**Bad Day by Daniel Powter_

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In the three seconds before Clary remembered the date, she was content. For those few moments, her heart felt light and almost happy. But when the full scope of what the numbers on the calendar meant came crashing down, it was all she could do to catch her breath. September third. Jonathan's eighteenth birthday. Or, what would have been his eighteenth birthday.

Clary sat up in bed, the sheets falling away and floating to the mattress below. Her heart thudded loudly but slowly in her chest. Long tendrils of hair settled on her shoulders, brushing against and tickling the bare skin there. Silence, thick as water, filled her ears. Every sensation felt more precise, like her grief acted as an amplifier for everything else. She'd thought that after her accomplishment at the cemetery the day before, maybe this day wouldn't be so bad. She was wrong. So very, very wrong. It wasn't anything she could pinpoint. Not a feeling of wanting to cry or scream, but more like a heaviness, pressing in on her from every direction, crushing her chest and her throat, making it harder to breathe. She just felt wrong, like the world had somehow shifted, leaving her off balance and struggling to remain upright when gravity wanted to pull her down.

Her entire body ached from yesterday's emotional onslaught and her legs felt weak and wobbly. Knowing she needed to get up, needed to not let it overtake her, Clary slowly lowered her feet to the floor, testing the strength of her legs before putting her full weight on them. Once she was confident she could hold herself up, she made her way to her dresser, feeling as though she was slogging through mud. Pulling out clothes for the day, she tried so hard to push back the enormous swell of emotion threatening to bring her to her knees. She didn't want to let it win. She wouldn't let it win. She wanted to fight it off, tell it there was no place for it anymore. That she was stronger and ready to move forward. For her mother, for Jonathan, for herself.

Crossing her room with renewed determination, Clary stole out into the hall and into the bathroom. She threw her pile of clothes on the floor next to the sink and glanced in the mirror. Her skin looked pale and her cheekbones stuck out more prominently beneath the dark circles under her dull green eyes. Shaking her head, she turned away and walked over to the shower, twisting the knobs and tentatively feeling the water until it reached a comfortable temperature.

After discarding her dirty clothes in the hamper in the corner, Clary jumped under the warm spray, her body relaxing slightly. The water dulled the memories forcing their way through her mind. All she wanted was to feel normal again. To not wonder when the pictures in her head would make her break down once more. She didn't want to forget Jonathan. She just wanted to forget the pain his name brought to the forefront.

Life had changed so much for Clary in the past few months. For a while, it was hard to even get out of bed, but lately, it was getting easier. Thoughts of people who meant something to her helped. Isabelle's fiery spirit kept Clary on her toes and made life fun again. Simon, loyal to a tee, had never failed her and was always willing to try to make her laugh when she needed it most. And then, of course, Jace. Just the sound of his name was enough to make her body tingle with excitement. He was an unexpected surprise. Able to make her feel things she'd never felt in her life. Things she didn't even know she was capable of—especially now. She thought she'd been broken beyond repair, that she could never feel anything normal people felt. The numbness that came after Jonathan's death blocked all of that. But Jace made it better. She didn't know how, she just knew he did. When she was with him, she didn't feel the ache deep in her chest anymore. The ever persistent nagging feeling that always haunted her all but disappeared. The longing was still there, but it wasn't the same. It was no longer painful. It shifted from the lonely guilt filled ache to a new and curious feeling. One that made her excited and hopeful.

When the water ran cold, Clary stepped out, dried her hair with a towel, and wrapped her body with another. Cool drips ran down her neck, causing her to shiver. She dressed quickly in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt before running a brush through her hair. Deciding to let it air dry and curl naturally, she brushed her teeth and then crossed to the door. She noticed the difference as soon as she stepped into the hallway. Something felt off. At first, she didn't know what it was, just a tiny shift in the hallway's dynamics. Confusion fell over her, but it didn't take her long to locate the reason for the unease settling in a hard lump in her stomach. A beam of light spilled into the hallway from the open door of Jonathan's room. His door was never open. Ever.

Clary's heart thudded loudly once and then stopped completely before starting back up, drumming to a fast beat. Why would his door be open? Curiosity pulled at her, but an overwhelming sense of . . . something, maybe fear, maybe sadness, overpowered that. Slowly, she inched her way across the hall until she stood just in front of his room. Her breath caught in her throat as the contents of his life laid out like a picture in front of her.

His CD collection lay haphazardly on a shelf, as if he'd just been through them recently. Clothing peeked out of the partially open closet. A soccer ball, cleats, and shin guards poked out of the gym bag next to the bed—which remained unmade in exactly the same way it had been the day of the accident.

So overwhelmed by the fact that she was actually looking into Jonathan's personal space once more, Clary almost missed the one thing that was different about the room. As her eyes roamed every surface, they finally fell to the floor next to his bed. Partially hidden behind the lopsided comforter, she spied a pair of slippered feet, attached to legs she knew well.

Clary's chest clenched. "Mom?"

No answer. No movement.

"Mom?" she tried again, more frantically than before.

Fear clutched at her, dragging its claws through her flesh and burrowing itself deep inside her. She stepped forward, her body stilling as she reached the doorframe almost as if an unseen force held her back and denied her entrance. Anxiety squeezed around her heart, icy tendrils wrapping themselves around, singeing her with their burning freeze. Her pulse quickened as did her breathing. Cold sweat broke out over her forehead and palms. She did not want to go in there.

It was hard enough looking upon it once more; she didn't know if she had the strength to actually stand in its presence quite yet. Dealing with and immersing herself in his death the day before had been one thing, but somehow, this was so much worse. His life, his energy, his _being,_ emanated from that room, filling all the spaces with what he used to be, and Clary couldn't handle that yet. She felt it deep inside herself, the sadness, the panic, the overwhelming sense of terror building within.

"Mom?" she squeaked out, needing Jocelyn to answer because Clary didn't know if she could make herself cross the threshold. The beginnings of panic settled in her chest, constricting her lungs and making her breath even more ragged.

Knowing she had no choice and steeling herself against the growing wound festering inside, Clary averted her eyes from the surroundings, took one more step forward, and then another, and then another until she stood all the way in Jonathan's room at the edge of his bed and over her mother's still form. Her skin prickled like she was being poked with a thousand needles all at once. More than anything, she wanted out of that room. Away from the unbearable ache spreading through her body, plunging all the light she'd managed to save back into the pit of darkness. Everything seemed to move in slow motion except her breathing and the flow of blood in her veins. Bending down she shook Jocelyn's shoulder.

"Mom? Mom, please. Wake up. I need you to wake up." Her voice cracked.

Jocelyn stirred but Clary could see she was still groggy and as she leaned closer, she smelled the distinct scent of alcohol billowing up from her mother's half-sleeping form.

"Clary?" she slurred.

"Mom," Clary whispered. "What did you do?"

"Couldn't sleep . . . Pills."

Clary forced out a deep breath even though they were shallow and she barely had enough air in her lungs to keep herself conscious.

"You took sleeping pills? Mom? Is that what you're telling me?" Clary's hands shook, and all she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and block out all the sights bombarding her with memories she couldn't handle.

"Mmm…" Jocelyn said.

"Mom, with alcohol?"

A soft snore resonated from Jocelyn's limp form. Reaching down, Clary wrapped her shaking arms around her mother's upper torso and hefted her up. Being as Jocelyn was taller, Clary had to drag her from the room, across the hall, and into her own bed. Once she got her there and slipped back out of the room, Clary's legs gave out and she slid down the wall, her body trembling violently.

She'd gone into Jonathan's room.

Alone.

She'd been surrounded by his things, his _life_. The realization of where she'd just been, and the fact that she could still see inside the open door, sent jolts of panic and grief through her body, causing the previous symptoms to continue to swell with no promise of stopping. She felt her chest growing tighter and tighter as the reminders peeked out from opposite her. Her breath came in short gasps and her pulse roared in her ears. Pain ignited in her chest. She reached up and clutched her ears against the noise, pulling hard on her hair and rocking quickly back and forth.

She wanted it to stop.

The noise.

The heaviness.

The pain.

Memories flashed behind her eyes. A large white smile. Hands tickling her sides. A laughing voice telling her to say uncle.

More laughter.

Squealing.

Shouting.

Screaming.

Rain pounding on metal.

A coppery smell, thick and heavy in the air.

"Please, please, please," she begged. "Please go away."

But it didn't. Her breathing turned to gasps and wheezes, and her chest constricted painfully. She hunched over, trying to get control back, but she couldn't. She didn't know how.

Downstairs she heard the door slam and a voice call up to her.

"Hey, Fray. You ready or what?"

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Part of Clary wanted him to go, to not have him see her like this. But another part, a frightened part, needed him to find her. After a moment, Simon's dark head bobbed into her view.

"Cl—" His eyes widened and he rushed over, kneeling in front of her. "Clary, what's going on? Are—are you okay?"

Clary shook her head violently, grabbing for Simon's hands. She remembered a little of what Jace had done, the way he'd touched her last time, and she tried to emulate it with Simon. She slapped his hands over her cheeks and managed one word between frantic, ragged breaths. "Talk."

"Wha—what do you want me to say?"

Clary shook her head, struggling to control the trembling in her body and catch her breath, but all it did was make it worse. Images, sounds, smells, feelings, all flooded her mind, slowly overtaking the reality around her.

"Is—is this one of those things. Um—what happened at school?"

Clary nodded, rocking her body quicker, her hands over Simon's, trying to feel what she had with Jace. Trying to get back the calm he gave her. When it didn't come, Clary's anxiety raised another notch and she yanked Simon's hands off her face, fisting her hands in her hair and pulling as hard as she could, hoping the pain would be enough to distract her. It wasn't.

"Clary," Simon pleaded. "I don't know what to do. Maybe your mom?"

Clary shook her head again. "Out." She meant to say "passed out," but she seemed to only be able to utter single syllables.

She heard the panic rising in Simon's voice. "I—Please—Clary, tell me what to do. I don't know what to do! Should—should I get Isabelle? She was there last time, right?"

Clary wheezed and rocked and pulled, shaking her head. Fighting so hard to calm herself but unable to gain even a foothold. As much as she didn't want to give Simon a clue, she knew she needed help and she only knew of one person who knew how to help her. "J—Jace." She finally got out. "P—Pl—ease. J—Jace."

"Jace?" Simon froze for a second, giving her a confused look. "Why—"

"P—pl—ease!" The word came out in a squealing whine as her breath scraped over her raw throat.

"Okay." Simon stood quickly, thrusting both hands into his hair and clutching it in his fists. "Okay." He glanced around for a split second, seeming like he didn't know what to do and then turned in a daze, rushing down the stairs. His loud footsteps following him and disappearing as he flew out the door.

Clary pulled her knees up to her chest, her hands still fisted in her hair, and ragged breath filling the space surrounding her. The edges of her vision slowly faded to black as nausea rolled in her stomach and the panic took her over, leaving very little of her body's responses in her control.

.o.O.o.

A loud banging at the front door interrupted Jace's morning ritual of reading through the latest comic with Max. With practice and all, he didn't have as much time to do it after school, so they'd decided to switch to the morning instead.

"Izzy!" he shouted. "Door!"

More pounding.

Jace groaned and pushed himself off the bed, opening his door and peeking out. The sound of running water and Isabelle singing floated through the hallway. With a sigh, he turned back to Max. "Be back in a second."

Max grinned and buried his nose back in the comic.

Jace took the stairs two at a time and flung open the door as soon as he reached it. Simon stood there, breathing heavily, his face pale and a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead.

"Izzy's still in the shower," Jace said, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms over his chest. "And no, you can't come in and wait."

Simon shook his head and tried to catch his breath. "I'm not here for Isabelle." He thrust his hand up into his hair and clutched at his dark locks, his eyes flitting toward Clary's house and then back to Jace. "Clary—she—needs you."

Jace raised his brows. "What?" He didn't quite know how to respond to that. Did this nerd-boy know something or did Clary just need help with something totally non-boyfriend related? How was he supposed to act? Concerned? Indifferent? Annoyed? God, he sucked at this secret boyfriend crap. "What does she need me for?"

"She's—I don't know—she—" Simon's eyes pleaded. "Look, I don't know what's happening. She's—freaking out or something. She can't breathe—"

Jace was out the door and halfway across the lawn before Simon caught up to him.

"What's going on?" Simon asked. "She said it was like at the school, but I didn't see that so I don't know—"

They'd reached the front door and as they crossed the threshold, Jace asked, "Where is she?"

Simon pointed to the stairs. "Up there."

Jace started toward the stairs, turning slightly and saying, "I don't suppose there's any chance you'd stay here."

Simon shook his head. "No way. She's my best friend."

He rolled his eyes. "Of course not. Why should anything be easy at this point?"

Jace ascended the stairs knowing without a doubt that what Simon saw would definitely clue him in to the fact that more than neighborly niceties existed between himself and Clary. But, that wasn't something he could worry about at the moment. They'd have to deal with the aftermath later. He heard her gasping for air before he saw her, but when he did, his heart dropped into his stomach. This was so much worse than the first time. Clary sat on the floor, her hands pulling at her hair, her body curled up into a ball and rocking back and forth, wheezing sounds coming from her throat as she struggled for breath.

He crossed the hall, immediately kneeling down in front of her. He didn't turn to see if Simon had indeed followed him, but he figured he probably did.

"Clary . . ." Her body relaxed slightly at his voice. He looked her over, the rigid set of her posture, the frantic movement back and forth, the painful sounding breathing. He knew he needed to touch her but didn't know how to do it without freaking her out. "Clary? Is it all right if I touch you?"

She nodded as she continued to rock.

Reaching forward, he placed his hands carefully over hers, rubbing his thumbs across her taut knuckles. "Let go, Clary. You're going to pull out your hair. Let go," he said quietly.

He continued to swipe his thumbs across the back of her hands until he felt them loosen their hold on her hair. Pulling them slowly away, he lowered them to her sides. "Good. Now listen to my voice, Clary. Okay?"

She rocked and wheezed and nodded. "J—Jace. P—pl—please. M—ma—ke it s—st—op. I c—ca—nt br—ea—the."

Without another thought, Jace grabbed her around the waist, lifted her slightly and sat her back down in his lap facing him with her legs wrapped around his waist. He tucked her arms around his neck and his around her back, pressing his forehead to hers. "Hold onto me, Clary. We'll get through this together, all right?"

Her grip around him tightened as she nodded again. She raised her arms until her elbows rested on his shoulders and her hands cupped the top of his head, holding him firmly against her. Her body still trembled and struggled for breath. Jace ran his palms over her back and through the damp hair hanging across it, whispering soothing words as he did.

Every inch of Clary's body pressed against his as he held her there. Her breathing slowed slightly and her trembling grew less. With their foreheads touching, her mouth hovered only centimeters from his, her fast, ragged breaths flowing over his face. Jace hated seeing her this way. She shouldn't have to constantly fight herself to get free from her own demons. It wasn't fair to her. All of the pain and guilt she carried around was unwarranted. He would give anything to show her that, to take it all away.

Jace moved his hands from her back up to her face, cupping her cheeks between them. Her breathing slowed even more and she tried to draw in deeper breaths while clinging to him. His fingers brushed over her cheekbones in long, soft strokes. Up until that point, her eyes had been clenched shut. But slowly, she opened them and stared straight into his. Again, her body relaxed slightly and she seemed able to take deeper breaths.

"Jace," she whispered, finally able to speak in a smooth tone though her voice sounded tired and weak.

"I'm here." He swiped his thumbs over her cheeks, removing the damp trails lining her skin.

She closed her eyes and leaned in, brushing her lips against his, but never actually kissing him. The action seemed to calm her even further.

Jace trailed his fingers through the hair just above her ears and whispered against her mouth, "You're okay. It's almost over."

After several more minutes, Clary let out a deep, shuddering breath and her body finally relaxed fully. She sagged into him, her hands falling limp against his shoulders. Her head dropped and rested beside her arm, her face turned into the crook of his neck. Warm breath fanned over his skin.

Jace gathered her hair and moved it over her shoulder. "Better?"

She nodded and slid a lazy hand up his neck, tangling her fingers in his curls.

"Good," he whispered, becoming increasingly aware of a presence he'd forgotten behind him. Letting out a slow breath and closing his eyes, he said, "Because we have an audience."

.o.O.o.

Slowly, Clary lifted her head from the warmth and comfort of Jace, meeting his gaze for a brief moment before focusing her eyes behind him and landing on Simon. He stared at them, his mouth gaping open and his own eyes wider than Clary had ever seen them. She wanted to say something, to explain the whole situation, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth rendering her completely unable to speak.

Immediately, she became aware of how she and Jace were wrapped around one another. How her body clung to him as if she were lost in the sea and he was the only life preserver. To someone who didn't know they were "together," this would look all kinds of wrong. Of course, to her it didn't feel wrong in any way, shape, or form. In actuality, it felt absolutely awesome and she kind of wanted to stay there for the rest of her life.

Closing her eyes, she lowered her head back to Jace's shoulder, taking in a deep breath and wondering how she was going to explain this to her best friend. Of all people, he should have been the one she could have told. But she didn't want to share this with anyone. Not even Simon. Plus, they weren't ready to come out yet. They both knew the opposition they'd face—especially from her mother and Isabelle.

"I'm sorry," she said into Jace's shoulder. "I tried handling it myself. I even tried to make it work with Simon. I just—"

His hand came up and cupped the back of her head. "Shh. It's all right. We'll deal with it." She felt him rest his lips on her hair and then sigh. "Can you stand? I'm figuring your nerd boy may be able to close his mouth again once we're not in such a—compromising position. Not," he left a kiss behind as he removed his lips from her, "that I'm complaining. I'm actually quite comfortable."

She giggled and raised her face to look at him. He smirked back at her. With a sigh, she untangled herself from him, her legs wobbling beneath her. Jace kept hold of her hands, steadying her as he stood. Once they were both upright, Clary met Simon's gaze once more. His face still held the same hurt, stunned expression.

"Simon . . ." She took a step forward, her hand extended.

He furrowed his brow. "You . . ." his eyes moved from her, to Jace, and back to her again, "and him." He sucked in a breath. "You lied to me."

Clary shook her head. "No. I didn't lie, I . . . avoided."

"But, why? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I—" A soft moan came from her mother's bedroom. Clary's eyes flickered to her door, another jolt of panic ripping through her. She couldn't be waking up already; she'd been completely out of it.

"I should go," Jace said quietly behind her.

Clary reached back and grabbed his hand. "No! Wait a minute." She turned back to Simon, not failing to notice as his eyes fell to their clasped hands. "Simon, please, can you go wait in my room and I'll explain." He looked like he wanted to protest, his gaze never leaving where she and Jace were joined. "Please, Simon."

Simon's eyes finally rose and met hers. He scowled. "Fine." He glanced at Jace, giving him a dirty look, and then spun on his heel, closing Clary's door behind him.

Clary raised a hand to her head, rubbing her middle finger and thumb across her forehead, closing her eyes for a moment. Letting out a breath, she turned toward Jace. She took a couple steps forward and stopped just before him. He looked down at her, his expression guarded. Clary let her shoulders sag forward and then reached out, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning her cheek against his chest.

"I'm sorry."

His hands slid up her back before he tightened his embrace, hugging her to him. "Stop apologizing to me, Clary. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Maybe if I just stopped with all this weak, damsel in distress bull you wouldn't have to come rescue me all the time."

He removed an arm from her back and hooked his finger under her chin, lifting until her eyes met his. "Maybe I like rescuing you. It's nice to feel like a hero instead of the villain for once."

Clary reached up and took his hand in hers. "You could never be the villain."

He gave her a sad smile and looked down before meeting her gaze again. "I should go take Izzy and Max to school. Are you going?"

"I don't know." She sighed. "I think maybe I should stay home. My mom—she took some sleeping pills and passed out on Jonathan's floor." Clary shuddered, remembering how she'd felt having to enter his room. "That's—that's why I—"

Jace raised his brows. "You went in there?"

She nodded, closing her eyes. "I didn't want to. I wasn't ready, but she—I didn't know if she was okay or not." A few tears she didn't even know had formed rolled down her cheeks. "It was awful, how it felt being in there. I just wanted to run away but I couldn't leave her there. And then I couldn't stop it . . ."

Jace lowered his face until his forehead rested on hers. "It's okay. It's all over now. Next time—when you're ready—it won't be so bad."

"But now Simon knows about us and—" She choked on her words. "What if other people find out? Izzy. My mom. I—I'm not ready for this to be over yet."

"Nothing has to be over." His fingers brushed her cheeks, wiping away the tears that had fallen. "Tell your friend in there not to tell anyone. If you think it'll help you can tell him I'll beat his ass until he can't sit if he says anything. I would be more than happy to hold up my end of that threat."

Clary laughed. "No you won't."

Jace screwed his mouth to the side and pretended to have to think about it. "I might."

"If you did, I may have to not speak to you for, like, a week or so."

A small grin pulled at one corner of his mouth. "I'm okay with not talking—as long as it doesn't mean I can't do this." He slid one hand around to the back of her neck and pulled her to him, crushing his lips against hers.

Clary's already weakened knees buckled under her, causing Jace to have to support her with the arm he'd wrapped around her back. She felt him smile against her mouth, no doubt feeling the effect he had on her. Deciding two could play at his little game, she reached up and grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled, pressing his face harder to hers. Her antics didn't even seem to faze him as he just clutched her tighter, molding her body to his as if it were just another part of him. His mouth was persistent, opening against hers, swallowing every last ounce of her breath until she was forced to pull away, panting for air.

"Jesus," she said, wanting to stand and save herself at least a shred of dignity, but hell if her legs still didn't work. "What was that?"

"That," he kissed the tip of her nose, "was me teaching you never to mess with the master. Because," another to each corner of her mouth, "I will win," and another softly to her lips, "every time."

She narrowed her eyes, wishing she didn't want a repeat performance right that second. "Is it even possible for you to go a whole day without being a total asswad?"

"You know, I'm not sure. I've never tried. But, come on, admit it, my asseyness is one of the things you love most about me. Not just anyone can pull it off with such unwavering consistency."

"I most certainly will not admit that, ever." Though, she secretly did. Damn it.

He grinned. "Oh, yes you will. Someday—probably soon—you will."

"I'm not even sure I like you anymore." She pursed to her lips to hold back a smile.

"That's okay. Just as long as you kiss me, I'm all good." He bent down and attacked her lips once more.

"Ass," she muttered against his mouth, lost again in the flurry of his self-control erasing, jello-leg making, breath-stealing kisses.

.o.O.o.

Clary waited another couple of minutes after Jace left, trying to regain her composure. Damn Jace and his lethal lips. What did he put in those kisses and when could she get some more? Her legs felt like they could give out at any moment and she had the insane urge to giggle like a school girl. She was _not_ a boy-crazy school girl. Not now and not ever. Simon would never let her live it down if she went in there all giddy with her swollen Angelina lips.

After taking in a few calming breaths, Clary pushed open the door and entered her room. Simon stopped in the middle of pacing to glance up at her. His eyes narrowed immediately.

"So I guess this answers my question about what kind of guy is your type."

"What are you talking about?" Clary closed the door behind her, not wanting to risk her mother waking and hearing any part of this conversation.

"On that first night, at Pandora, I asked you about your type. Now I guess we know what that is. Cocky jocks with really awesome hair."

"Simon—" She sighed and then thought about that for a moment. "He really does have great hair."

He held up a hand to stop her, grimacing at her words. "Just—I mean—why did you feel like you had to hide this?"

She crossed the room and sat down on the bed, her body still feeling a bit shaky from her attack and then the insanely awesome kiss. "You know how my mom is. I just—I don't want to deal with her right now. And Isabelle wouldn't like it. She has some—issues—with Jace being around her friends. It's—complicated."

Simon sat beside her. "I get the thing with your mom, I do. What I don't understand is why you felt like you couldn't tell me. I'm your best friend. You know you can trust me."

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "It has nothing to do with that. This is very new. Very. And, I don't really know how to handle it. I know if my mom finds out she won't let me see him. She probably wouldn't allow me to even see Isabelle and then she'd be upset as well. She'd hate Jace more and probably me too."

"Did you ever think that maybe Isabelle has her reasons for Jace not dating her friends?"

Clary scowled. "Yes. But Jace is allowed to have friends too."

"Really," he said. "Is that what you are? Friends? Come on, Clary."

"Yes! We are friends. And . . ."

"And?"

Clary sighed. "Just 'and', okay?"

Simon lowered his face to his hands. "Look. You know I have nothing against you dating. I don't agree with how sheltered your mom tries to make you. But, Jace? Seriously? He's such an . . ." he trailed off as if he were searching of the right word.

"Ass?" Clary smirked.

"Yes!" Simon dropped his hands exasperatedly and turned to her, his eyes wide.

Clary laughed. "I know."

"You _like_ that?"

Clary shrugged. "I like _him_." She met Simon's stare. "He makes me laugh. He's different with me. I don't know why, but he always has been. He's . . . sweet."

Simon made a gagging sound and Clary slapped him on the shoulder.

"Shut up," she warned with a smile.

"I'm sorry, but when you say the words 'sweet' and 'Jace' in the same breath it kinda makes me want to yak up my breakfast."

"Listen, Simon. All joking aside, okay? I need you to promise, _swear _to me you won't say anything to anyone about this."

He studied her carefully before speaking. "Do you realize how messed up this is? Do you really think it's smart to get involved in something you have to keep a secret?"

Clary lowered her face to her hands and took in a deep breath. "Smart? Absolutely not. But it's the only choice we have right now, Simon."

"You could just . . . not," he suggested.

She glared up at him. "Oh, and if you were in the same situation with, let's say, Isabelle . . . could you just 'not?'"

He opened his mouth to speak, paused, and closed it again.

Clary lifted her hand palm-up in his direction. "See?"

He puffed out his cheeks and let out a gust of air. "Fine."

"Fine?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, fine. I won't tell anyone."

Clary squealed and threw her arms around his neck.

"But. Damn it, if he hurts you, you know I'm going to have to kill him, right?"

She pulled back and grinned at him. "I know."

Simon closed his eyes and raised his face to the ceiling. "God, I really hope it doesn't come to that because he looks like he could hold his own and I really don't want to get punched in the face. It really hurts."

Clary bust out laughing and fell to her back on the bed. "You're such an idiot."

He smirked and lay back beside her. "Yeah, but you love me."

"No doubt."

For a few minutes neither of them spoke. Clary was glad someone finally knew. Although, she didn't like the idea of hers and Jace's "secret" being out just yet. She'd kind of liked it being their own little thing. But she knew, sooner or later, someone was bound to find out and having Simon be the first wasn't such a horrible thing.

"So," he said, "what are we doing today?"

She glanced over at him. "Aren't you going to school?"

"Nah. My best friend's having a bad day. I thought I'd stick around. You know, to be the comic relief and all."

Tears stung Clary's eyes and she rolled over, throwing her arms over Simon's chest and hugging him tightly. "Thank you. You really are the best friend ever."

"Yeah, yeah. But, hey, lay off all right?" He shoved against her playfully. "I already told you, I don't want to get punched and you hanging all over me is bound to result in some sort of bodily injury from your boyfriend there."

Clary giggled. "God, that sounds weird."

"What? Bodily injury?" He scowled. "That is not a laughing matter. You should be more concerned for my well-being."

"Not that." Her face grew warm. "Boyfriend. It's just—I've never had one of those before."

Simon snorted. "Well, way to go picking your first one, let me tell you."

Clary rose up on one elbow. "You know, I could totally call your mom and tell her you're skipping."

"You wouldn't." He raised his brows.

"I might." She smiled at the reiteration of Jace's words earlier. "If you keep bashing my . . . boyfriend," she squeaked the word out.

Simon laughed. "See! You can barely say it yourself."

"Shut it," she said and lay back down next to him. "Thank you for being here, Simon. It means a lot."

He reached out and tucked his arm under her head, drawing her closer. "Anytime, Fray. That's what best buds are for."

Clary smiled and closed her eyes, thinking she could quite possibly fall asleep right there. Her secret safe and her best friend at her side.

.o.O.o.

The final bell of the day rang and Jace was out the door of the classroom before most students had even stood from their desks. To say he was anxious would have been the understatement of the millennium. He'd barely been able to focus on anything all day except what occurred that morning. The fact that someone else knew about him and Clary bugged him more than he thought it would. It wasn't that he was embarrassed or anything, but he just didn't want to share her or what they had with anyone else. Not to mention the huge possibility that Jocelyn finding out would abruptly end everything before it barely started. Maybe he just feared it would make things different, less special. Though, that seemed irrational because it was still just him, and just her.

He maneuvered himself through the crowded hall, wanting to get to his locker and out of the stifling school walls. Just as he reached the end of the corridor and turned to his locker, a hand trailed along the top of his jeans, settling on his hip.

"There you are. You know, if I didn't know better I'd think you were trying to avoid me." Kaelie smiled up at him from under her lashes, a pen clutched between her teeth.

"Really?" He reached down and grabbed her wrist, taking it away from his hip and dropping it to her side. "What ever could have given you that impression?" Grabbing his books, he shoved them into his bag.

"Hmm. Playing hard to get." Kaelie reached out and hooked her fingers through his belt loops, pulling him flush against her. "I like that. I'm not opposed to a challenge."

Jace pushed her away and slung his bag over his shoulder. "Playing hard to get would constitute you having a chance." He slammed his locker shut and met her eyes. "And honey, there's no chance in hell. So if you could please remove your claws from my belt loops, I can get the hell out of here."

Kaelie stared at him, her expression stunned. "No—no one tells me no. Ever."

Jace grinned and leaned forward, his face just inches from hers. "I think I just did."

Slowly her fingers slipped from his jeans and he turned away from her, making his way to the front doors. Isabelle waited just beside them, her eyes wide.

"What did you say to bimboliscious over there? She looks like she's going to be sick."

Jace laughed and glanced over his shoulder. Kaelie still stood next to his locker, her face stuck in the same shocked expression. "I told her no thanks."

"What? You denied her?" Isabelle sounded just as stunned as Kaelie had. "You said no to a ride on the skank train?" She stopped and looked at him as if he'd suddenly grown another head. "Seriously, who are you? What did you do with my brother?"

He sighed and walked toward his car. "Maybe I'm tired of the games, Izzy. Maybe I'm tired of bimbos and skanks and girls who allow asses like me to use and walk all over them. Maybe I want something more. Some_one_ more."

Isabelle stopped walking and stared up at him with a look resembling fear in her eyes. Suddenly, she reached into her back pocket and whipped out her cell phone, holding down the number two key and lifting the phone to her ear.

"What are you doing?" Jace asked.

"I'm calling mom. There is seriously something wrong with you."

Jace snatched the phone from her hand and hit the end key. "There's nothing wrong with me. Now get in the car before I make you walk to kickboxing."

Both of them got in the car and neither spoke as they drove to the elementary school to pick up Max. After they'd gathered him, Isabelle kept sneaking worried looks in his direction, and he tried his hardest to ignore it. Was he really that big of an ass before? Of course he was, he couldn't deny it. But was he really acting that different that even Izzy noticed? Was that a bad thing?

He pulled up outside the studio letting Max and Isabelle out at the curb. Max trotted ahead and disappeared into the building. Isabelle lingered before leaning back into the car.

"Are you sure you're all right? You're not like sick or something are you?"

Jace laughed. "No, Izzy. You know you'd be the first I'd tell, so I could enjoy watching you dance around cheering at my imminent demise."

She frowned. "Okay." Before closing the door she smirked. "You know, I totally would, too."

"Yep. I know."

"Behave, Jace."

"Don't I always?"

She rolled her eyes. "Please." The door slammed behind her and Jace smiled as he watched her go into the building after Max. She wasn't all _that_ bad.

Before pulling away from the curb, he took out his phone and sent Clary a text.

_Everything okay? ~J_

****A minute later, his phone buzzed.

_I guess. Where are you? ~C_

****_On my way home. ~J_

_ Izzy? ~C_

_ Kickboxing—with Max. ~J_

_ So you're alone? ~C_

****Jace chuckled at her question before typing his response.

_Yes. ~J_

Jace bit his lip and waited for her response. A few minutes later, his phone buzzed.

_Good. I'll be waiting. Braids and all. ;) ~C_

_ That is so not nice. ~J_

_ LOL! ~C_

****Shaking his head as a smile spread over his lips, Jace turned the key in the ignition and eased out into traffic. Ten minutes later, he pulled into his driveway and killed the engine. Immediately, his eyes found her, sitting on his porch steps, her hair separated into two braids hanging loosely to the side. He opened the door and stepped out, reaching behind his seat to grab his bag before making his way to her.

She grinned up at him, squinting against the bright sunlight.

"You weren't kidding about waiting—or the braids."

She stood and let him by. "Why would I kid about that?"

"Oh, I don't know." He twisted the key in the lock, opening the door and gesturing for her to come in. As she passed, he leaned in and brushed his lips against her cheek. "Maybe because you know it drives me crazy."

She giggled. "Yeah, I know."

He closed the door, dropped his bag, and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her to him. "I seem to remember you telling me you weren't a tease. Were you lying about that?"

"Possibly. But it's not like you can complain. Weren't you teasing me this morning?"

He bent down and rested his forehead against hers. "Sorry. I was just trying to distract you from everything. I shouldn't have teased you."

"Does it sound like I'm complaining?"

He reached up and smoothed back a couple of escaped curls hanging over her cheeks. His eyes scoured her face, taking note of the hollow, dark spaces under her eyes. "You look tired."

She sighed and leaned into him, resting her cheek against his chest. "I am. It was a—rough day."

"Your mom?"

She nodded and exhaled loudly. "She's been so strong. So together. I think his birthday was just too much."

"What about you?"

"I don't know. I kinda feel—numb. Or something. I think maybe I got a lot of it out yesterday and then this morning . . ." Clary lifted her head and met his eyes. "Thank you for this morning. I know it screwed some things up and—"

Jace lifted his hand and placed a finger against her lips. "You didn't screw anything up. Your friend is going to keep quiet, right?"

"Yes. He said he would."

Jace shrugged. "Then there's no problem."

"Really?" She studied him skeptically.

"Yes." He cupped her cheeks. "Really."

Clary grinned and stepped back from him, grabbing his hands and pulling him with her.

He furrowed his brows. "What are you doing?"

She bit her lip and yanked harder against him. "Well, I've had a really crappy day and I think I know what might make me feel better."

"Really?" Jace raised one brow. "And what's that?"

Clary smiled wider and moved to his side, thrusting her hand out in front of him. Both of them stood side-by-side in front of his piano. He glanced down at her, a twinge of nervousness curling in his gut. He'd played his guitar for her countless times, and she'd heard him once on the piano. But he'd never actually played it _for_ her.

She must have sensed his unease because she squeezed his hand and said, "You don't have to if you don't want to. I just love listening to you and I've only gotten to hear you once on the piano."

Jace chewed on his lower lip for a moment before meeting her gaze. "Okay," he said, moving toward the bench, "but I have one condition."

She followed, her brows furrowed. "What condition?"

He sat and pulled her to the bench next to him. "You have to sing with me."

She raised her brows. "I don't sing."

"Yes you do. I heard you, remember?"

"Yeah, but I was just screwing around."

Jace leaned over and captured her lips in a small kiss. "So are we. Are you in or are you out?" He dangled his fingers over the keys.

She narrowed her eyes and puckered her lips. "Fine, but if you go deaf from my horrible singing don't say I didn't warn you."

Jace laughed. "I don't think that's gonna happen, but if it does, I'll send you the bill." He touched his fingers to the keys and pressed down, playing a quick warm up to loosen his fingers and get himself in the right mindset. Once he felt in the right place, he fingered the keys lightly, the smooth ivory giving easily under his touch. He glanced over at Clary. All signs of her earlier tiredness wiped from her face and in its place a small smile and wide, happy eyes. He grinned at her and started the first strains of a familiar song. Her eyes widened and sparkled as she looked at him.

"You know it?" he asked, figuring she did but wanting to make sure anyway.

She nodded. "Everyone knows this song."

He chuckled. "Okay then. I'll go first. Then it's all you."

Her cheeks turned a bright shade of red only making him smile wider.

Jace's fingers pressed harder against the keys, replaying the beginning before singing the first lines.

He glanced at Clary and raised his brows, indicating it was her turn. She bit her lip momentarily before quietly singing the next part in a small voice. Jace smiled as he listened to her.

Clary scooted closer as Jace played the bridge to the next verse, her body touching his all along his side. She reached out and laid her hand on his upper arm, moving her fingers lightly up and down his bicep. Without even prompting her, Clary sang out the next lines, louder than the first time.

Not wanting to interrupt and liking the sound of her small voice filling the room, Jace kept quiet as she closed her eyes and continued on.

"I don't hear you, Mr. Wayland," she scolded.

He grinned and sang the chorus with her.

After that, they both sang together, no more taking turns. Clary loosened up and belted the vocals, not caring in the least whether or not he heard her every note. He didn't know why she worried, she sang just fine, hitting all the notes with a sweet, even tone.

She snuggled up next to him, her head on his shoulder and her hand wrapped around his arm. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so—comfortable in his own skin, let alone with someone else. Being with Clary was easy. She had no expectations of how he should be. She didn't ask questions he couldn't answer, and she didn't make him feel like he had to hide who he was inside. With her, it was all right to smile, laugh. It had been so long since he felt like he could just _smile._

The last notes rang out from the piano as his fingers stilled on the keys. For a moment, neither of them moved. They just sat, reveling in the happiness they both felt. For the few fleeting seconds before real life edged its way back in and overshadowed a bit of that carefree joy.

Clary sighed and lifted her head. "That was fun."

Jace cupped his hand around his ear and leaned in. "What? I can't hear you?"

Clary laughed and shoved him hard. He reached up and grabbed her wrists, laughing as he toppled off of the bench pulling her down with him. His back hit the hardwood floor with a thud and his breath whooshed out of his lungs as Clary's body landed on top of his. Her eyes widened as she stared into his, her breath catching. Jace felt his heart speed up as he became more and more aware that every inch of her lay on every inch of him, her face only millimeters from his. He swallowed hard against the desire to do what he wanted to do and what he knew he should do.

"We should—probably . . ." he said, his voice quiet and really unconvincing.

"Yeah, probably," Clary said in exactly the same tone, but without moving a muscle. She continued to stare down at him, her breathing accelerating the longer they lay there.

Jace lifted his hands, placing them tentatively at her waist, his fingers nearly touching across her tiny back. Clary brushed her fingers over his forehead, moving a few strands of hair that had fallen across. Her eyes never moved from his, making it nearly impossible for him to hold onto his restraint.

Clary's hands moved around to the back of his neck, twisting around the loose curls and pulling tight. It was an invitation, he knew it was, and God help him, he couldn't hold back any longer. Lifting his chin, he caught her lips with his. Her eyes fluttered shut and she was kissing him back. His grip increased on her back, holding her flush against him. Clary pressed down, kissing him harder and deeper than before. Every thought of controlling himself was quickly receding as her lips and tongue assaulted him. He wanted to let go, to just take everything she was offering. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he should stop, but she just felt so good and fit so perfectly with him. His arms tightened unconsciously around her back and she pulled harder on his hair. Everything was fine and he still held a shred of control over his hormones until she shifted her hips against him slightly.

_Holy Hell. _His hands flew to her hips and his fingers tightened against her flesh. More than anything he wanted to make her do it again, over and over. But finally, his conscience overthrew his hormonal teenage douchebag side and he bolted up, his hands still gripping her tightly and his breathing labored. Clary pulled back and looked at him with wide eyes.

"Jace?" she asked.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Just—give me a second."

She made to get up but because of their position, just managed to rub against him again. He couldn't help the small groan that escaped. "Please, God, don't move. Just—don't move." He lowered his head and rested it on her shoulder as he concentrated on anything he could think of to calm himself.

"What's wrong?" she whispered.

Jace couldn't help but smile at her innocence. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong. I just need to—calm down a little."

"Oh," she said, her voice conveying she didn't quite understand. "Did I—did I do something wrong?"

He shook his head. "No. Quite the opposite, actually. You're doing too much right." Glancing up, he gave her a small smile. "Sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

Jace let out a slow breath. "Because I'm trying to do this right. I don't want to get carried away before I've even treated you like a real girlfriend and at least taken you out or something."

A smile pulled at the corners of her lips. "You want to take me out?"

Jace scowled. "Of course I do. I know it's a little complicated since we're kinda still on the down low, but there are other towns around here."

Her grin grew wider and she thrust herself forward, throwing her arms around his neck. Jace tightened his grip on her hips and bit his lip.

"Oh, sorry. I forgot." Her cheeks grew pink.

He shook his head, forcing himself to push his urges aside again.

"But . . ." She blushed even darker. "If you like it . . ." Her hips moved once more.

"Jesus." He clenched his eyes shut and dug his fingers into her flesh. "Clary . . ."

Leaning down, she whispered. "I don't mind." And then her lips found his.

Every shred of control he'd clung to so tightly slipped his grasp and his mouth pressed into hers. Her hands twisted tighter in his hair as she leaned into him. He gripped her hips so hard he worried he may bruise her, but he couldn't make himself stop. She felt so incredibly good. His brain couldn't keep up with all the sensations sparking throughout his body. He'd been in this predicament with girls before but never had one of them made him feel so out of control, so feral, so in need of her.

His fingers finally loosened their hold on her hips and slipped up under the bottom edge of her shirt, feeling the soft flesh just above her jeans. He stopped there for a moment, gauging her reaction. When she continued kissing and pulling on him, he raised them another couple of inches until his hands spread over her ribs. A small gasp escaped her throat as he brushed his fingers across her bare skin.

Her hold on his hair loosened and she let her hands run down his neck and shoulders until she reached his upper arms. Her fingers slid under the fabric of his sleeve and wrapped around the top of his bicep. Keeping them curled around, she ran them slowly down the length of his arms and dropped them when they disappeared under her shirt. Reaching forward, she teased along the bottom edge of his shirt and inched her fingers underneath, tentatively touching the flesh on his side. The feeling of her touching him in that way was almost enough to make him lose his mind.

Somewhere amidst the hormonal frenzy of kissing, touching, and rubbing Jace heard the sound of a car door slamming. It took mere seconds for him to realize what that meant.

"Max! Don't just leave your stuff in the back seat. Take it to your room," Maryse scolded.

Jace froze for a split second as did Clary. He looked up and met her eyes before they both jumped up, faster than he thought possible considering how tangled up in each other they'd been. For a moment, Jace's mind went completely blank as he tried to figure out how to get them out of this. He glanced at Clary's flushed face and suddenly his brain snapped back into place and he grabbed her hand.

"The back door. Come on." He yanked on her arm and they flew through the dining room and into the kitchen just as he heard the front door open.

Maryse's voice got louder the closer she came to kitchen, the sound of a paper sack crinkling in her hands. Jace pulled open the door and tugged Clary out onto the back porch.

He reached forward and grabbed her face, peppering several small kisses on her lips and cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he repeated.

She grinned and kissed him back. "Don't be. I'll see you later."

He nodded. "Oh, and I meant that about taking you out. We're going to do that."

"I'm looking forward to it." She smiled once more and disappeared around the corner of the house.

Jace rested his head against the door frame, his heart beating fast and his clothing uncomfortably tight.

"Jace?" Maryse's voice called from right behind him.

He turned and met her gaze.

She furrowed her brow and took a few steps toward him. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" He knew his voice sounded shaky and a little breathless. Damn hormones.

"You're all flushed and you're breathing funny." She reached up slowly, knowing she couldn't surprise him with her movements. Carefully, she laid her hand against his forehead and then his cheek. "Huh, you don't feel warm."

"I told you. I'm fine." He moved his face away from her hand.

For a moment, he could see the hurt in her eyes, but she covered it just as quickly as she had shown it. She nodded. "Okay. Well, why don't you lie down for a bit before dinner? Just in case."

"Actually, I think I'm going to take a shower." _A cold one._ "I'm sure I'll be fine after."

Maryse gave him a small smile.

He turned away, let out a slow breath of relief and made his way out of the kitchen. Isabelle stood at the bottom of the stairs giving him a strange look.

"What's your problem?" he asked.

She crossed her arms over her chest and looked him over. "I was just about to ask you the same thing."

"What's wrong with you people? I'm fine. How many times do I have to say it before you lay off?"

"Something's going on with you. I know it. And I'm going to figure it out."

Jace rolled his eyes and pushed past her. "Whatever, Isabelle."

"I mean it, Jace."

He climbed the stairs, not allowing himself to interact with her any longer. Somehow, she was definitely sensing a change in him. Whether or not she would actually be able to figure out what caused it remained to be seen. He and Clary would have to figure out a way to be more careful. Until they could tell her mother and be sure she wouldn't forbid them from seeing each other, all of this had to stay a secret. They didn't have a choice.

But, he couldn't worry about that right now, he had more—pressing—issues to attend to. He needed to figure out how he and Clary could be a real couple and still maintain their secret. He hadn't been kidding when he said he wanted to take her out. He really did want that. Never before had he actually cared about being a proper boyfriend for anyone. But as he'd known all along, Clary was different from any other girl he'd ever met. She deserved to be treated that way. Unfortunately, that night, the only date Jace had enough brainpower left to plan was one with the cold shower.


	18. Enough

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

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_**Chapter 18: Enough**_

_Chapter Songs:_

_**One Hand in My Pocket by Alanis Morrisette_

_**Kill by Jimmy Eat World _

_**First Time by Lifehouse _

_**Had Enough by Breaking Benjamin _

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"No, this just won't do. It won't do at all." Isabelle stood in front of Clary's closet, her hands on her hips and shaking her head. She turned, raising one brow. "Seriously? I have never met anyone so fashionably challenged—other than Alec that is."

Clary flopped back onto her bed, her legs dangling over the edge. Twisting a piece of hair between her fingers, she studied the way the light filtered through the strands, bringing out the deep auburns, lighter orangey red, and plain old red coloring. "What does it matter, Izzy? It's just a soccer game. I didn't realize there was a dress code."

Isabelle's mouth fell open as if Clary had just said the stupidest thing she'd ever heard. She raised a hand to her face, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers and clenching her eyes shut. "Clary—" She paused to draw a deep breath through her nose. "Do you not care at all about attracting members of the opposite sex? I mean, really. You had that cutie all over you at school and the dance and you totally blew him off. Why? I don't get it. And now, we're going to a tournament—between four schools—and there will be many delicious specimens to choose from." She opened her eyes and met Clary's. "Are you really telling me you don't care about that?"

Clary dropped the hair from her fingers and sat up, scooting herself to the very edge of the mattress. "Yes. Isabelle. I can honestly say I don't care about that." Of course, she didn't add the reason_ why_ she didn't care about that. But, even if she weren't "taken" she probably still wouldn't. She shuddered lightly at the thought of her actually being taken. The concept was still a little much for her to get used to.

"How? How can you not? You do like boys, right?"

Clary laughed. "Yes. I like boys."

Isabelle crossed the room and sat next to Clary. "Then please explain to me your reluctance to do anything to attract them. 'Cause I surely don't get it."

Clary sighed and focused her sight on the green and white checkered terry bathrobe hanging on the back of her bedroom door. She didn't quite know how to explain it to Isabelle without making her feel bad. It wasn't that she didn't want to be attractive; she just didn't want that to be the only thing a boy noticed about her. Not that that mattered anymore anyway, she had the boy she wanted. "I don't want to pretend to be something I'm not. I don't care about clothes or makeup, or anything like that. If a boy doesn't like me the way I am, he isn't worth me wasting my time on him." She gestured to Isabelle. "Dressing up, wearing makeup, and all that is okay for you because it's something you enjoy. It makes up part of who you are." She shrugged. "It just feels like I would be pretending if I did it—lying, you know?"

"Guys don't care if you lie, Clary. They just want to look at you and kiss on you."

Clary pinched her brows together and turned to look at Isabelle. "What kind of guys are you trying to attract?" She plopped down on her back, staring up at the ceiling. "Why would you want someone like that? Don't you want someone you can talk to? Someone you have stuff in common with? Someone you like and who likes you for more than just something to kiss?" A small smile tweaked the corners of her mouth as she considered the fact that Jace was all of those things and more to her. They'd started out as friends. Friends who talked and shared with one another things they couldn't share with anyone else. It hadn't begun as a boyfriend-girlfriend type of relationship. Nor had it ever been intended to turn into one. Because of that, Clary felt it was so much better than any normal sort of coupling.

Isabelle snorted. "Yeah, like that's ever going to happen. Boys like that don't exist—at least not ones our age."

Clary grinned and closed her eyes. "Oh, I don't know. I think they're around. You just have to know where to find them. Sometimes, I think you get so busy looking for something, that you miss the fact it's been standing right in front of you the whole time."

"College guys!" Isabelle snapped her fingers and turned to Clary, a large smile stretching across her face. "I should totally be looking for more mature men." She slapped her hands down on her thighs.

"That's not what I meant," Clary mumbled, not bothering to speak any louder, knowing by the look on Isabelle's face, she wasn't going to convince her of anything right then.

"Okay then," Isabelle lay down beside Clary, turning her head to face her, "since you claim to like the male species, and apparently hottie Sebastian hasn't caught your eye, is there a guy who has?"

Clary felt her face heat immediately. Internally she cursed the very blood in her veins that pooled into her cheeks.

"Oh!" Isabelle lifted herself onto her elbow and stared down at Clary, a maniacal smile stretching across her lips. "There is. Tell me who!"

Clary shook her head and sat up, willing away the fresh wave of blood relentlessly gathering in her face. "No one."

"You're such a liar." Isabelle mimicked Clary and sat up. "I should have known there was a reason you were pushing Sebastian away. Come on. Tell me who."

"I told you, Izzy." Clary stood and crossed the room to the door. Placing her hand on the knob, she turned back to Isabelle. "No one. We should probably go. We'll be late."

Isabelle stood, crossed the room, and narrowed her eyes at Clary. "Fine, don't tell me." She shrugged. "I'll figure it out. Sooner or later."

She left the room in a flourish of black, silky hair. Clary followed behind, praying with all her might that "later" would be closer to the actual time in which Isabelle found out. Trying to explain what she and Jace were to each other was complicated enough without the added pressure of Isabelle most likely being totally pissed about it all.

Clary hated keeping things from her friend, not only because of the principal behind hiding things, but also because she wanted desperately to talk about it with someone. Someone who could understand and help her make sense of the things she was feeling. Someone who could tell her why her skin tingled every time Jace ran his fingers along it, or why her breath caught when his lips touched hers. And possibly even how just one smile made her feel as though everything that had ever gone wrong suddenly no longer mattered. Simon knew, but he was a guy, and Clary was quite certain trying to talk to him about anything concerning Jace would be highly uncomfortable. Not to mention, Simon had threatened to upchuck on her shoes if she ever mentioned a single sensitive issue to him.

Then again, Isabelle was Jace's sister and that conversation would probably be awkward as well. Clary sighed at the uncomfortable longing in her chest. She wanted so badly to be able to be free and open about one of the most exciting things happening in her life, yet, she had no one she could share it with. Sure, she had Jace, but telling him how awesome he was would only exacerbate his already inflated ego. That was definitely not something she wanted to do. She loved his confidence and his cocky nature, but she'd be damned if she contributed more than the norm.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Clary heard Jocelyn call to her from the kitchen. She turned to Isabelle. "I'll meet you at the car in a sec, okay?"

"Sure." She smiled. "Bye Ms. Fray!"

"Bye, Isabelle," came Jocelyn's muted reply.

_Hurry_, Isabelle mouthed before pivoting toward the door and letting herself out.

With a sigh, Clary turned to the kitchen. When she walked through the door, she found Jocelyn hunched over a cup of coffee, her forehead in her hand.

"Mom?"

Jocelyn turned and tried to smile. Her face still looked pale and dark bags stood out under her eyes. She patted the stool next to her.

Clary moved forward and swung one leg over, sliding onto the wooden seat. She turned her gaze to her mother, a look of question on her face.

Jocelyn sighed before meeting Clary's eyes. "Soccer game?"

"Yeah." Clary nodded. "I thought it might be good to go again. I miss them." She paused. "I told you, Isabelle's brother plays so I was going to go with them."

"Yes, I remember." Jocelyn smiled again, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Look. I wanted to explain—about yesterday."

Clary shook her head and reached over, laying her hand on Jocelyn's shoulder. "You don't need to explain, Mom. You know I understand." She lowered her gaze to the ground. "It was hard for me too."

"I know, baby." Jocelyn raised her hands and cupped Clary's face. "That's why I'm apologizing. I had no right—no right at all . . ."

"Please, Mom. Don't." Clary pulled Jocelyn's hands from her face and held them between hers. "Yes, you do. I told you before, its okay if you're not always strong. I'm not."

"But I'm the mother, Clary. It's my job to be strong. To make sure you're okay, and I didn't do that yesterday. I'll never forgive myself for that."

"My friends helped me, Mom. Simon stayed with me all day." She conveniently left Jace and Isabelle's names out of the conversation.

"I'm glad." Jocelyn patted Clary's hand. "But it should have been me." She slid off the stool, grabbed her coffee cup, and placed it in the soapy water in the sink. Picking up a cloth, she washed the cup, rinsed it, and placed it on the drying rack before turning back around. "That won't happen again. I promise you. Never again."

Clary sighed, knowing better than to argue with her mother. It was best to just accept what Jocelyn said when she got like this. "Okay." She hopped down and wrapped her arms around her mother's waist. "I love you, mom."

"You too, baby." Jocelyn kissed the top of Clary's head and squeezed her tight. "You better go before the Lightwoods leave without you."

Clary looked up, meeting Jocelyn's sad eyes. "I don't have to go. I can stay home with you, if you want."

Jocelyn shook her head. "No. Go. Have fun."

"Are you sure? It's no big deal. I can just go tell Isabelle—"

Jocelyn silenced Clary with a finger to the lips. "I wouldn't hear of it. I'm glad you have friends that are helping you. Go, enjoy them." She pressed another kiss to Clary's forehead before pulling away.

Clary watched as Jocelyn disappeared around the corner, her nightgown fluttering behind her. She sighed and closed her eyes, wishing she could do more to help her mother, and also that she didn't feel so guilty about lying to her. If she could just get Jocelyn to stop viewing all boys, besides Simon—and apparently now Sebastian—as the devil incarnate, she could stop with the games and hiding. More than anything, that's what she wanted. Of course, there was Isabelle to contend with, but Clary felt she was the lesser of the two evils.

With a sigh, she walked to the door, pausing just before opening it to glance up the stairs. The sound of the shower running hit her ears. She let out a heavy breath and turned to go outside. The sun shone brightly, making Clary need to shield her eyes against it. Isabelle waited next to the car, Max and her parents were already inside.

"Sorry," Clary said as she rushed toward them.

Isabelle shrugged and opened the door. "No problem. My parents just got out here a few seconds ago anyway."

Clary slid in past Isabelle and sat next to Max. "Hey, Max." She smiled.

He grinned back at her in return. "Hey, Clary."

She turned her attention to Isabelle and Max's parents. "Mr. and Mrs. Lightwood, thank you for letting me ride with you."

Maryse turned and gave Clary a tight smile before facing forward once again. "No problem, dear."

Isabelle climbed in after Clary, slamming the door shut behind her. She reached forward and grabbed her purse, taking a small compact out and checking her makeup. Clary chuckled to herself.

"So," Max said, "how many goals do you think Jace will make today?"

"Um . . . I don't know. How many do you think?"

"Like fifteen." Max's eyes widened.

Isabelle scoffed and Clary giggled. "Wow! I hope so, that'd be awesome to see."

"If you need any help understanding how the game works, just ask me. I know everything," Max said seriously.

Clary bit back another laugh. "Thanks, Max. I'll remember that."

He nodded and turned back to his comic.

Clary glanced at Isabelle. She grinned and rolled her eyes. Clary shook her head and smiled back. She liked Max. His obvious hero worship of his brother was beyond adorable. She'd only seen a little interaction between Jace and Max but she wanted to see more. Their relationship had to be something special to garner such a positive response in Max.

The drive took a little over an hour. Clary and Isabelle joked with Max about his love of comics, and Isabelle teased him relentlessly over his Jace adoration. Of course, Clary said nothing about that because she loved hearing his little stories. Loved seeing Jace in a different way than she'd ever been privileged. She told herself that sometime, when people knew about them, she really wanted to hang out with him and Max together.

When they reached the fields, Mr. Lightwood parked close to the one assigned to Maple Ridge and they all climbed out. Clary stood with her hand shielding her eyes, looking for the black and white uniform with the number seven on the back. Finally, after several minutes, she spotted him near the other end of the field running drills with his teammates. Smiling to herself, she followed the Lightwoods to the bleachers near center field and sat on the top most bench.

It had been a while since she'd watched him play. Those few mornings before they'd really been aware of each other, she'd studied the way he moved, compared it to Jonathan's stance. She knew then, and really noticed it now, there was no comparison. Jace had the ability to move with such aggression, yet still so gracefully it seemed almost unfeasible. But there he was in front of her, doing just that. The look of concentration and determination on his face as he dribbled around other players was truly a sight. Sometimes, when she saw him this way, she found it hard to believe he was the same boy who cradled her face so gently between his hands and softly touched his lips to hers. The boy who took her in his arms and whispered calming words when she fell apart. The one who held her hand while she tried to conquer her fears. It didn't seem possible that one person could be so many things all in one form. Strong, cocky, determined, confident, arrogant, sweet, sensitive, caring, loving, gentle—it was an impossibility embodied fully in Jace.

After a few minutes, she realized she was staring—and he was staring back, one brow raised and a half grin quirking one side of his mouth. Heat traveled from her neck all the way to her cheeks and she lowered her gaze, silently cursing herself for being so obvious. With a quick glance out the corner of her eye, she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Isabelle paying her no attention. She had to be more careful, couldn't let her mind wander and her emotions show on her face. Beside her, Max jumped to his feet and clambered down the bleachers when he saw the team break up and head toward the sidelines.

"Jace! Jace!" He waved his hands above his head, trying to gain his brother's attention.

Clary watched as Jace grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and noticed Max. A grin broke over his lips and he lifted his chin in acknowledgment before jogging across the field. When he reached the bleachers, he smiled larger and lifted his fist, bumping Max's. Jace's gaze flickered to hers momentarily before he moved it away. She knew it had to be just as hard for him to act nonchalant around her—at least she hoped it was or else she'd feel like a total tool. What she wouldn't give to be able to walk down there and talk to him freely, maybe even touch him or kiss him. A shiver shook her at the thought. Maybe someday.

Isabelle turned toward her, her brows furrowed. "Cold?"

For a moment, Clary considered telling her no, but then how would she explain if Isabelle asked why she shivered? Biting her lip, Clary nodded. "A little." Now that she thought about it, she did feel slightly chilly. Goosebumps rose on her flesh and she rubbed her arms, trying to ward them away.

"Hmm," Isabelle said. "I didn't bring an extra sweatshirt." She turned to her mother. "Mom, are there any extra sweatshirts or jackets in the car?"

"Isabelle, it's really not—"

"Shh." Isabelle cut Clary off with a raised hand.

"Um, no. I don't believe so," Maryse said, glancing at Clary. "Are you cold, dear?"

Clary shrugged. "It's no big deal. I'll be fine."

"Nonsense." Maryse dismissed her much like Isabelle just had, and turned toward where Jace and Max stood at the bottom of the bleachers. "Jace?"

His head shot up, looking in Maryse's direction.

"Could you come here, please?"

Without answering, he made his way up the bleachers to them. Clary's face heated even more, knowing what Maryse was going to ask him. She stifled a groan.

"Did you happen to bring your sweatshirt? Poor Clary here is chilly and she forgot hers."

Clary thought she might die from embarrassment. She didn't care how many times her mother told her it could never happen, she was sure she'd be the first one to actually have the words "Death by embarrassment" on her death certificate. "It's fine, really. I'm fine." She tried to disguise the waver in her voice, failing miserably.

Jace met her eyes, a playful glint in them. Clary felt her heart thud faster. He so had her at just one look. She didn't have a chance. Slowly, he walked over to stand in front of her. She raised her gaze and met his. He'd covered any hint of his feelings from his eyes. Clary tried hard to mimic him, knowing she was probably failing miserably—especially since she felt like she could barely breathe. How did he manage to still make her feel that way?

"I don't have a sweatshirt, but I do have this." Reaching into his bag, Jace pulled out his uniform cover up.

Clary felt giddy at the possibility of wearing part of his uniform. Not only because it would in fact be warm, but she'd also have his name and number sprawled across her back. Another way for him to claim her without anyone knowing exactly what it meant.

Isabelle snorted. "Awesome Clary. If I didn't think you couldn't possibly repel the opposite sex any more, now you can double it by wearing my brother's name on your back."

"It's warm isn't it?" Clary narrowed her eyes at Isabelle and reached out, taking the cover up from Jace's hand. "I think I'll risk losing the surge of male interest in favor of not shivering to death." She turned back toward Jace. "Thank you," she said quietly, slipping her arms through the too-long sleeves, pushing them up over her hands and zipping the front. She had to try very hard not to sniff the material in front of everyone because she knew it would smell just like him, and she loved smelling like Jace.

"You're welcome. Though, I do feel awful if having my name on your back spoils your chances with the masses today." He didn't sound at all like he would feel bad about that.

Clary bit the inside of her bottom lip in an effort to hide her smile. "Don't you worry your pretty little head there, Goldie. I'm sure your name on my back won't hinder my progress with any boy I choose to pursue anything with." She smirked, twirling one of her long braids with her fingers.

"Hmm." He looked her over and shrugged. "I suppose not. Besides," he leaned in and whispered low enough that Isabelle couldn't hear—not that she'd been paying much attention since another team had just come out of the locker rooms, "what guy in his right mind could resist those braids?"

Clary lowered her face and smiled as a fresh wave of blood heated her cheeks. She raised her gaze to his just in time to catch the short jerk of his head, letting her know he wanted to see her. She nodded as inconspicuously as she could. Turning her attention back to Isabelle, she pretended to focus on her instead of watching Jace jump from the bleachers from the corner of her eye.

After a few minutes, she quietly excused herself. Isabelle barely noticed her departure as she made her way down to the ground. Taking the long way around, she followed the edge of the bleachers until she came to the opening in the side and ducked underneath. It was surprisingly dark and she had to squint to make out the different shapes.

"Jace?" she whisper-shouted. "Where are you?"

No answer.

She glanced around, trying to spot his white uniform amidst the shadows. "Jace?" She tried once more.

Suddenly, she felt a hand grab her arm and push her against the post behind her. A stifled gasp escaped her lips as a hard body pressed against hers.

"Shh." Warm breath flowed over her face.

Clary closed her eyes and smiled. "Jace."

"Who else would it be?" he asked, his mouth so close she could almost feel his lips moving against her skin. "Or were you serious about attracting the masses?"

She giggled, reaching forward to lace her arms around his neck. "That's a stupid question. A fine catch like me? I have no need to try to attract anyone. Besides, I've already snagged the guy I want."

"Hmm. What a lucky guy. Yes, I suppose you are rather 'catchworthy.' He needs his ass handed to him if he isn't treating you like the special," he placed one kiss to her neck just under her ear, "adorable," another to her jaw, "beautiful," and one more to the corner of her mouth, "girl you are."

"Eh, he does all right."

"All right?" Jace pulled back, studying her in the dim light. "That's it? All right?"

"What?" She tightened her grip around his neck, pulling him closer. "You think you can do better?"

"I'm certain I can. How big of a tool is this guy anyway?"

Clary laughed. "The biggest."

"Well," his hands came up and held her face, "that just won't work now will it?" His lips brushed hers.

She shook her head, "Uh uh," and pressed harder against his mouth.

After only a short moment, Jace pulled away. Clary had to force herself not to whimper at the loss of contact. He took a step back and looked down at her, an unreadable expression on his face. She dropped her arms and supported herself with the beam behind her.

"What's the matter?" she asked, feeling slightly nervous at his expression.

"Nothing." He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the ground. "It's just . . ." His eyes met hers. "I wanted to apologize—about yesterday. I shouldn't have—I mean, I didn't mean to—"

Relief washed over her and she stepped forward, taking both his hands and lacing her fingers through his. "There's nothing to be sorry for. I enjoyed every second about yesterday—well, the parts when I was with you, all the rest kind of sucked."

Jace didn't smile. "But I should have had more control over myself. I usually do. There's just something about you that makes me lose my mind a little." He moved toward her and cupped her cheeks once more. "I just don't want you to ever think or feel like that's all there is between us. That that's all I want because it's not. I want everything with you. I want to make sure you feel special and beautiful and to show you that I—"

His words cut off immediately and his mouth snapped shut. Clary's heart sped. What was he going to say? He what? What did he want to show her?

"Clary?" His voice came out a whisper.

"Yes?" She breathed the word. The sound of blood rushing through her veins pounded in her ears.

"Please shut me up before I say something I don't think either of us are ready to say or hear."

Clary could have sworn her heart literally exploded out of her chest. Without even saying the words, he was acknowledging what he felt for her. He was right, neither of them were ready to hear or say it, but just knowing the intensity of it was there for both of them was enough for her. Even though they'd only been "together" a short time, Clary couldn't discount how their relationship started and how strong it had been from the very beginning.

Reaching up, she wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him to her. When their lips met, she opened her mouth against his immediately. She felt as he responded and allowed herself to fall into him. His arms stretched around her waist, bringing her tighter against him, but they were not insistent or forceful. He held her comfortably, with a gentle strength that made her feel both desired and protected.

When they broke apart, Jace kept his eyes closed and touched his forehead to hers. "How douchey is it for me to really like you wearing my name on your back?" His fingers brushed along the letters stretching across her shoulder blades. "Does that make me some kind of caveman-like asshat?"

"Very douchey and very asshaty." She grinned, touched his lips once more with hers, and pulled back. "But I guess then I'll have to join the seriously pathetic crowd because I think I probably like it just as much."

He pulled back and grinned. "Really?"

"Yes, really." She placed a hand against his chest and playfully pushed him away. "Don't let that go to your head. It's already big enough."

He grabbed at her waist, pulling her closer once more. "Why wouldn't I let that go to my head? You just admitted you like me staking claim to you." Nuzzling his nose in her hair, he whispered, "You like being my girl."

A shiver raced up Clary's spine at his words. _His girl_. He'd called her his girl. She knew that's what she was, but she loved hearing him say it. Loved hearing the words come out of his mouth, wrapped up in his voice. "Say that again," she said.

He drew back and met her eyes. "Say what?"

"That I'm your girl."

His brows furrowed before a spark of understanding smoothed them out once more. "You're my girl," he said quietly.

A slow smile spread over Clary's lips. "Yes. Yes, I like that. A lot."

Jace chuckled. "We're disgusting, you know that?"

Clary nodded. "Utterly nauseating."

He draped his arm over her shoulder and pulled her closer to place a kiss on her head while walking her back to the opening in the side of the bleachers. "It's probably a good thing no one knows about this at this point. I think we'd make them all sick."

"I think you're probably right. Simon actually forbade me from talking about this with him because it would make him vomit on my shoes."

Jace shook his head. "Wimp."

"I know, right?"

Just before they reached the opening, Jace stopped and pulled her in for one more small kiss. "I should let you go first—just in case."

Clary sighed. "Okay."

He reached out and grasped her chin, raising it until their eyes met. "This won't be forever. As soon as we can figure out how to get the others to see this from our point of view we won't have to hide anymore."

"I know. It just sucks."

"I know." He leaned forward and brushed his lips against her forehead.

"See you after the game."

He grinned. "Yeah." Then he turned and started walking in the opposite direction.

Clary sighed and exited the underside of the bleachers into a slightly deserted area of the field. The bright sun shone down on her, making her squint against its glare. She'd taken only a few steps into the daylight when she heard a voice behind her.

"So, Wayland now, huh?"

Clary froze, a feeling of dread welling up inside her. She knew that voice. Turning slowly, she met his eyes. "What do you want, Julian?"

He stepped out from the shadows, a sneer stretching across his face. "Nothing. Just making an observation."

"Well, forgive me if I just don't care about your 'observations.'"

"There she is." He came closer.

Clary wanted to back away, but she didn't want him to think she was afraid of him.

"There's that feisty girl I met at that party." He reached out and ran his knuckle down her cheek.

She jerked back. "Don't touch me, Julian."

"That's not what you were saying that night." He kept moving closer to her, forcing Clary to leave her position. "In fact, I seem to remember you quite enjoying my hands on you."

"That was before you drugged me and tried to do—whatever it was you were going to do."

"You have no proof I did anything like that."

"I don't need proof, Julian. I know you did."

"Your word against mine."

Clary felt her back hit the side of a nearby equipment shed. Her heart stuttered at the realization Julian had her literally backed up against a wall. He stood very close, looking down on her, his smirk still in place, and biting his lip.

"Leave me alone, Julian." She internally scolded herself for the unevenness of her voice.

"We're just talking, Clary. Look," he gestured between them, "I'm not even touching you."

"What do you want?"

He leaned forward, placing both hands on either side of her head, his breath against her skin making her stomach turn. "I'm kind of hoping your boyfriend will show up and we can finish what we started last time we met."

"Looks like today is your lucky day then." Jace's voice sounded from behind Julian.

Clary's heart stopped, not sure whether it wanted to race or drop. She didn't want them to fight, but she also didn't want Julian to keep being able to come after her this way.

A slow smile spread over Julian's lips. "Excellent," he said, turning.

Clary slipped out from the space between him and the wall and raced over to where Jace stood. He reached out and pushed her behind him. She tugged on his arm. "Jace, please. Let's just go. He's not worth this. Please."

"No, he's not worth it. You're right on that. But, someone needs to teach him a lesson. Besides, I made him a promise that the next time I saw him off the field I'd finish what I started. I always keep my promises."

Jace stood with his legs apart and his arms at his sides. He looked so comfortable, so relaxed, almost as if this was not something new to him. His stare never wavered from Julian's.

Julian laughed and moved closer, now standing only a couple of feet from Jace. "You may be taller Wayland, but I'm still bigger than you."

"Stand back, Clary," Jace said, his voice like ice. "Size isn't the only thing that matters—I'm sure you've heard that a time or two in your life."

"Jace, please—"

Jace turned slightly toward her. "Clary—" Before he could finish what he was saying, Julian hauled off and sucker punched him right in the face.

Clary gasped and raised her hands to cup her mouth. The punch did little more to Jace than knock his head sideways and split his lip. He never wavered from his stance. Reaching up, he swiped the back of his hand against the blood coming from his mouth and looked at it.

"Really? You're going to sucker punch me? Are you really that much of a coward?" He took a step forward, and keeping his gaze locked on Julian, addressed Clary, "So, what do you think now, Pippi? Should I just walk away and let him get away with that?"

Clary lowered her hands, anger coursing through her veins. "No," she shook her head, "I think now you should kick his ass."

A slow smile spread across Jace's lips. "That's my girl."

She stood back as he'd asked, watching as his muscles tensed and his hands curled into fists. As much as she'd always thought she'd hate watching a fight, she actually thought it was kind of hot. Especially since Jace moved the same in this situation as he did in any other—with confidence, skill, and grace.

Julian threw a few more frenzied punches, all of which Jace blocked with ease. He had yet to strike at Julian at all.

"Is that all you've got?" Jace asked as he blocked another face shot and then one to his stomach. "This is pretty embarrassing for you, isn't it?"

Julian's swings increased in quantity and his breath grew labored. Jace continued blocking, not even breaking a sweat. After a few minutes, Julian's assault slowed and his strikes became sluggish.

"Had enough?" Jace asked.

Julian threw another few pathetic punches.

"No? Well, unfortunately for you, this is becoming tiresome for me, and it's really not pretty when I get bored. So, I say we're done."

Faster than Clary could really comprehend, Jace drew back and landed one upper cut to Julian's jaw, sending him sprawling onto his back in the dirt. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he lay there.

Jace leaned over him. "Stay away from my girl, or we'll just have to revisit this little scenario. And next time, I won't be so easy on you."

Julian groaned in exhaustion and raised his hands to his jaw. Jace stepped back, rubbing his thumb along his swollen lip.

Clary met him between where she stood and where Julian lay. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to distract you." Reaching down, she grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the bathrooms where a drinking fountain stood.

"It's fine." Jace laughed. "Does it look like I'm bothered by any of this?"

Dipping her hand into her pocket, Clary pulled out a clean tissue and wet it under the fountain's stream. She raised it to Jace's lip and dabbed the remaining blood off, wincing when he did. "No, you actually seem pretty relaxed."

He shrugged.

"How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Hold him off like—like it was nothing." She wiped the last traces of blood from his face, leaving behind just a small slit and a slightly swollen lip.

He leaned forward. "Because it _was_ nothing." He grinned. "Isabelle and Max aren't the only ones who have taken fighting lessons. Plus, didn't I tell you? I'm a badass."

Clary rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

He reached up and wrapped his hand around hers, lowering it from his face. "I told you there were a lot of things you didn't know about me," he said seriously, his eyes boring into hers.

Clary swallowed hard, and lowered her gaze, raising her hand once more to wipe a small drop of blood from his chin. "And—when do you think you might—you know, tell me some of those things?" She looked up at him once more.

He bit his lip and glanced toward the field, squinting against the sun. "Sometimes," he started quietly, "people learn to fight for something to do, for honor, or just to earn the right to say they can. And then sometimes," he paused and met her eyes again, "well, sometimes . . . you don't have a choice. Because sometimes it's not a matter of boredom or honor, it's a matter of survival."

Clary sucked in a sharp breath as she stared up at him, studying the flashes of memory behind his eyes. And then, without caring who might see, she reached up and ran her fingers along his jaw, stood on tip toes, and brushed her lips against his cheek. "You don't have to fight anymore," she whispered, pressing her forehead to the side of his face.

With a sigh, he lowered his head to rest on her shoulder. "I know."

Sliding one hand to the back of his head and the other around his shoulders, she held him tight against her. After a moment, she felt his arms snake around her, holding her back. Even though he'd said the words, acknowledged the fact that he was aware his life was different now, Clary wondered if he really believed it. Would those wounds ever heal? Would he ever be able to completely move forward from whatever it was in his past that plagued him? She wanted so badly to heal him, to fix him, to show him how worth something he really was. Because she knew the strong, confident, almost man she held in her arms was really still a scared, broken little boy trying to find his way out of the dark, twisted tunnel he was trapped in. If she had her way, and he let her in, she was determined to help him find it. No matter what it took. He deserved that. He deserved to be free from it all.


	19. Storm

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

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_**Chapter 19: Storm**_

_Chapter Songs:_

_Enter Sandman by Metallica (Scene 1)_

_Blind by Lifehouse (Last scene)_

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The scent of fresh cut grass lingered in the air. Jace tried to concentrate on nothing but the turf under his feet, the players surrounding him, and the ball sitting on the center line. The spectators didn't exist. There were no bleachers, no cars passing on the street parallel to the fields, and no children playing on the park nearby. He couldn't hear the screeches of joy, the blaring of horns, or the muted cheers. All of his energy, his mind, his strength, centered on the activity contained within the white lines surrounding him.

Ten players wore the same colors he did, two at his sides and eight behind him. All with the same goals in mind.

Defend.

Block.

Score.

Eleven others stood opposite him, facing off inside the same four chalked barriers. One of them glared at Jace, a blossoming purple bruise staining his jaw. A small grin tugged at the corner of Jace's mouth, a sting radiating from the small cut in his lower lip. He ran his tongue over the broken flesh briefly, almost as if he could still taste the blood, the victory he had over the douche across from him.

"Hell, Wayland," Sebastian said. "What crawled up Sanders' ass?" He gestured across the field to a glaring Julian.

Jace grinned larger. "My foot. Or more specifically, my fist to his assbag face."

"You clocked Julian? Why?"

Jace turned toward Sebastian, exposing his full face to him and pointing to his lip. "He hit me first."

"What did you do to him?"

Jace scowled. "I didn't do anything. I caught him cornering Clary against the shed behind the bleachers."

"What?" Sebastian's eyes widened.

"Damn doucheclown," Jace muttered, "had her trapped between him and the wall. He's lucky I didn't do worse than that."

"Was he—" Sebastian glared across the field and lowered his voice, turning toward Jace. "Was he the one who . . ."

Jace looked at Sebastian. "You know about that?"

"I was best friends with her brother, of course I know. Jonathan just never told me who." He studied Jace curiously. "How do _you_ know?"

"She told me."

"She talks to you about stuff like that?"

A whistle blew and the ref stepped out into the field, relieving Jace of having to answer Sebastian. He took his position behind the ball, hunched over and ready to play, one hand lying loosely against his back and the other hanging limp at his side. Sebastian stood several feet away, his toe on the line waiting for Jace's pass. In that moment, Jace let his mind clear of everything once more, though he held onto the anger coursing through his veins. He'd found many times before he played better when pissed. And that day, his fury took on a whole new meaning. He wanted to bury Julian, throw him to the ground and rub his face into the dirt. He wanted to make sure he never had the opportunity or ability to hurt Clary ever again. But that would have to wait for another time, right now was the time to kick his ass on the field.

The ref stood in front of Jace, his hand in the air and head turned toward the opposite team's goal keeper.

"Keeper! Ready?"

The dark haired boy raised his hand and nodded.

The ref turned toward Jace, his gaze going over Jace's head to their own team's keeper.

"Keeper! Ready?"

Jace didn't turn to see the reaction, but knew he'd said okay when the ref blew the game starting whistle. It rang shrill and clear through the air, the sound jump starting a flurry of activity. Sebastian took a few steps forward as Jace nudged the ball in his direction and crossed the center line himself after it left his foot. The opposing team closed in on them, trying their hardest to take possession of the ball. Sebastian ran several paces ahead, dribbling the ball closely to his feet. Jace squeezed through their first line of attack and lifted his head to Sebastian, signaling he was ready. The ball rolled across the field, stopping directly in the curve of his foot as if it had somehow been magnetically drawn there.

With a quick glance up to assess his surroundings, Jace shot ahead, the ball staying securely between his feet, inching forward as he ran. Two defenders rushed in on him, one trying unsuccessfully to swipe the ball from his possession while the other leaned into his body, taking care not to shove with his shoulder and earn a penalty. Another player veered in from the side, blocking Jace's movement forward. In his periphery, Jace spotted his left forward trailing slightly behind him. With a slight lift of his foot, he stopped the ball and rolled it backward, hitting his target perfectly.

His teammate took the ball and snaked up the sideline as far as he could before being cornered by several of the opposing team's members. Jace broke free of his defenders, taking care to stay onside, and raised his hand indicating a pass. The left forward shoved through the crowd enough to get the ball out. Jace caught it easily and darted forward, a clear shot on the goal.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins as his target came nearer. He heard the defenders behind him, their feet pounding on the ground trying to catch up, but he had the advantage and he knew it. With another burst of energy, he gained even more distance on them and then it was just him and the keeper. The face-off seemed to go in slow motion, taking minutes instead of only a few short seconds. The keeper squatted slightly, his muscles tensed and ready to move in any direction, ready to sacrifice his body if need be. He held his gloved hands up, fingers spread in front of him.

Jace lifted his right foot just enough to fake the keeper out, watching him stretch to his left, and swung out with his left, sinking the ball in the top right pocket of the net. The keeper sprawled across the opposite side of the goal and banged his fist on the ground. Jace turned, meeting Sebastian's whoop with a smirk. Sebastian wacked him on the back in a congratulatory smack and they both jogged back to center field.

From behind, he heard Julian's voice shouting at their team's keeper. "He's a lefty, you moron! How many times have we gone over this?"

Jace snickered and took his position around the center circle.

Again, the ref blew his whistle, the opposing team now in possession of the ball. The center forward nudged the ball back to Julian who passed it off to the left forward. Just as he started toward the center line, Sebastian snuck up on him and slide tackled it out of his grasp. Jace collected the rogue ball and kicked it back to their right midfielder. Once he was stopped up, he passed it back to the center defender who kicked it up into the air and over the heads of most of the players.

One of Oak Valley's players headed the ball right in Jace's direction. He caught it with his chest and let it roll down his body until it hit the ground at his feet. Immediately he had two players on him, pressing into his sides and swiping at his feet. He tried to move forward but one of the players reached out and twisted a hand in his jersey, tugging and causing Jace to stumble back. Glancing back toward the ref, he expected the whistle to sound for holding, but the ref stared back, a blank expression on his face.

Sebastian jogged toward Jace, the two of them watching as the ball passed between the opposing team's players on the other end of the field. Maple Ridge's defenders worked hard to keep the ball out of shooting range.

"What the hell was that?" Sebastian asked. "I don't think I've seen such an obvious holding penalty."

Jace shrugged. "Hell if I know."

The ball sailed back through the air, dropping several feet from where Jace and Sebastian waited. Sebastian got to it first, driving it up the sideline. Jace ran parallel to him up the center, keeping himself open for a pass. When two defenders cornered Sebastian, he pushed the ball between their legs right to Jace. Just as the ball touched his foot, Jace felt a hard hit right to his side. His breath whooshed out as he flew into the air, landing with a smack on the ground. Pain radiated up his side and his lungs burned as he tried to catch his breath. The shrill sound of a whistle blew somewhere in the vicinity, but the only thing Jace was aware of was the splitting pain in his ribs. He struggled to breathe as he brought his hand up to his side.

A shadow passed over him and when he looked up, he was met with Julian's smug face.

"Not so tough now, are you?" A crooked sneer spread over his lips.

Disapproving boos and groans emanated from the crowd. Jace heard Robert's irate voice somewhere near the sideline. He turned his head in their direction and saw Maryse, Isabelle, and Clary all on their feet, eyes wide, staring down at him. Clary's eyes met his, her hand held over her mouth. He closed his briefly and let his head fall back to the soft grass below, trying his hardest to regulate his breathing. The sharp pain in his side started to recede, but it still hurt to draw in a breath.

"Dude, you all right?" He heard Sebastian's voice hovering above him.

Opening his eyes, Jace squinted against the sun's glare and nodded. "Just give me a sec." He drew in a deep breath, wincing internally at the ache it caused, but figured he was ready to go. "Okay, I'm good."

Sebastian reached down and Jace grabbed his outstretched hand, allowing him to pull him from his place on the ground. The boos and groans gave way to cheers as he stood to his feet, drawing in another breath. Players all around him rose from their knees and slowly made their way back to their previous positions.

"Wayland!" Coach called from the sideline. Jace glanced in his direction. "All right, kid?"

Jace nodded and gave him a thumbs-up. His side still throbbed but was bearable. Nothing he hadn't handled before and certainly not the worst injury he'd ever sustained. The ref came up and asked again if he was okay to continue. When Jace answered in the affirmative, the ref signaled with his hand to resume play.

Since the penalty happened inside the goal box, Jace was awarded a penalty kick—just him and the keeper. An easy shot, head on. He stood behind the ball, lined up his shot, and kicked out. The ball sailed through the air and the keeper lunged for it but it managed to sneak right through his fingers, sinking perfectly in the corner pocket.

Jace turned and started back to the center line. Julian caught his eye and glared. Jace smirked back. "How'd you like that, asshat?"

.o.O.o.

Clary stood partially under the bleachers near the exit to the locker rooms, waiting to see Jace when he came out. In as many games as she'd been to for Jonathan, she'd never seen one so rough and violent. It seemed the entire team had been out to get Jace. They crowded around him, throwing elbows and shoving him, not even seeming to care when they earned a penalty. Two players were given yellow cards, and a third a red one.

Jace, however, seemed to handle it all better than she would have. He managed to avoid most injury by simply swerving out of the way at the right moment. But that first hit, the one to his ribs, Clary knew hurt him. Throughout the rest of the game, he'd protected that side and made sure no one hit it again. She watched as he struggled for breath and winced on the sideline, yet, when out on the field, unless one were watching super close—as she was—he hid his pain very well. No one would be the wiser. But she knew better.

Finally, the locker room door opened and Jace and Sebastian exited, talking and laughing about something. The sight of Jace laughing with anyone besides her seemed so strange—especially when that someone was Sebastian. Jace hadn't seemed too thrilled with the idea of Sebastian, but maybe that was just because he seemed to have a thing for Clary. Whatever the case, she was glad they seemed on more friendly terms now.

She stepped out from under the bleachers, catching Jace's eye. He gave her a slight grin and said something to Sebastian before turning toward her. Sebastian's gaze followed Jace for a moment, a confused glint in his stare.

Jace stood before her a few seconds later. He glanced around quickly before leaning in to give her a peck on the cheek. Crossing his arms in front of him, he leaned his shoulder against one of the bleacher posts. "So?"

Clary raised a brow. "So what?"

"What'd you think of the game?"

"It was—" Clary hesitated. Even though it was probably one of the best games she'd ever seen, she didn't like how rough the other players had been on Jace, "really rough."

Jace glanced down and chuckled. "Yeah, well, I pissed off Julian and he enlisted the help of his teammates in settling the score." He shrugged. "Nothing I haven't seen before."

Clary took a step forward and slowly brought her hand up to rest on his forearm. "Are you all right?"

He furrowed his brow and looked down at her like she'd just asked the most ridiculous question he'd ever heard. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

She narrowed her eyes and stepped forward again, running her hand across his arm and down his side. He winced involuntarily as her fingers skimmed the area where he'd been hit. "Liar."

He pushed her hand away and rolled his eyes. "I told you it's no big deal. It happens."

"No big deal? I saw you struggling for breath and wincing on the sideline. Why didn't you have the coach look at it? It could be bad."

He shook his head and looked away.

"Let me see," she said.

He glanced back at her, his brows raised. "What?"

"Let me see," she repeated.

"I told you, I'm fine. Just—stop worrying, okay?"

"Jace—"

"Clary."

She rolled her eyes. "Would you quit being an ass and let me see? You could have cracked a rib or something."

"What? Are you a doctor now?"

"Jace, please."

He let out a slow breath and met her eyes. Something flashed through his, and unless she was mistaken, it looked a whole lot like fear. "Fine." He dropped his bag to the ground behind him, gripped the front of his jersey with one hand, holding it down to cover his stomach, and lifted the side a few inches with the other.

Clary gasped as the fabric rose, revealing an angry purple bruise forming over his lower ribs. "Jace . . ." She reached forward to touch him and he tugged the shirt down, jerking away from her outstretched fingers.

"It looks worse than it is. Trust me. This is nothing."

Clary sighed and closed her eyes, leaning into him, her forehead against his chest. His hands came up and rested against her back. "You're such an ass," she said.

"I know," he said softly, gripping her cheeks and tilting her face up to his. And in the shadow of the bleachers, away from the prying eyes of everyone else, he kissed her, his lips moving gently against hers.

For just that moment, Clary was able to push aside her worry that he was hurt, the fact that they could be caught at any moment, and the ever growing curiosity over why he wouldn't let her touch him. Why he wouldn't let anyone touch him. These were things she wanted to know, needed to know. How could she help him if he wouldn't open up to her at all? Had she not earned his trust enough yet?

Jace broke away first, though not moving from her. "I need to get back. The next game starts in a half hour."

She nodded against his forehead, enjoying the feel of his hands on her face. "Take care of that side, okay?"

He leaned forward and grinned against her lips. "Yes, Mom."

"I really think we should change your name to ass instead of Jace. Ass just fits you better."

"God, you're starting to sound like Isabelle more and more every day. It's really starting to freak me out kissing someone that sounds like my sister."

Clary reached up and pulled his face hard against hers, kissing him and then shoving it away. "Go play and work out all this asshatyness you've got stored up. It's starting to grate on my nerves."

"You know you love it," he said, his breath flowing over her face, causing her to shudder. He smiled. "Later, Pippi."

Clary watched his back as he walked away, her legs weak and the taste of him lingering on her lips. She wondered if and when this reaction to him would ever stop. In some ways, it annoyed her and made her incredibly frustrated. The way he could manipulate everything she felt seemed so unfair. But in other ways, she hoped it would never cease and that she could always feel this way. The pounding heart, shallow breaths, and weak knees were a small price to pay to have Jace Wayland look at her the way he did. To touch her, hold her, kiss her. Yes, a very small price indeed.

.o.O.o.

By the time the storm clouds rolled overhead, Jace had already played three games. Everything in him ached, his side, his legs, his chest. Everything. Thankfully, the last game was called due to the approaching storm.

Jace leaned his head back against the stiff bus seat and stared out the window, focusing on the headlights of the passing cars as they blurred by. Thunder ripped through the sky as fat drops started to fall, splattering against the window and spreading out in all directions. He watched as it moved across, the wind working to rip it away from the glass but only managing to smoosh it flatter. Lightning flickered against the black sky, bringing into focus the dark trees lining the highway.

He closed his eyes and tried to forget how storms made him feel. To push aside the images the boom of thunder and the patter of rain caused to flash through his mind. The feel of large hands wrapping around his arms and pulling him back, the fear crowding his chest as his pleas were ignored, the white sheet dropping over dark hair laced with red, the click of metal snapping into place. The pictures flashed through his memory over and over, becoming clearer and clearer as the thunder rolled. Voices shouted, screams echoed, his own wails louder than anything else around him. He wanted to get to that sheet, to raise it up and peer underneath. To prove to everyone that what they said wasn't true. To make those men in blue let his father go. To make them believe it hadn't happened the way they thought. But no one listened to a five-year-old child, especially not the large woman holding him back, trying to take him away.

"Wayland," a voice called in the distance. "Jace, we're back."

Slowly, Jace opened his eyes and peered around. Sebastian stood in the aisle of the nearly empty bus. Jace frowned and looked out the rain soaked window, recognizing the school parking lot and seeing his car in the distance.

"I don't know how you managed to fall asleep. It was louder than hell on here tonight."

Jace stood, his stiff muscles protesting the movement. "I don't know how either." He grabbed his bag and followed Sebastian off the bus into the rain.

Having given his cover-up to Clary, he had no hood to pull over his head, and the rain fell down, soaking through his clothing and dripping from his hair. He waved a quick goodbye to his lingering teammates and rushed to his car, fumbling with his keys in the wetness before jamming the correct one into the lock. He wrenched the door open, threw his bag in the back, and slid into the seat.

He drove carefully through the streets, the rain coming down so hard he could barely see out the windshield. Finally, he pulled into his driveway and sprinted into the dark house. His family and Clary had left after the second game due to the late hour and the fact that they were all hungry and tired. Clary told him she was staying the night with Isabelle. The idea of her sleeping just across the hall made him smile.

He opened the door and entered quietly, not a sound other than the downpour outside and the distant cracks of thunder met his ears. Taking off his wet cleats, he started up the stairs, making it to his room in record time. He dropped his bag next to the small desk and proceeded to strip himself of his wet clothes. A hamper sat next to his closet door and he threw the clothes into it, reminding himself to take it downstairs first thing so they didn't mold.

Slipping on a pair of black pajama pants and a fitted white tank top, he finally turned to his bed, spying the large manila envelope sitting on the end. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, knowing exactly what awaited him inside. Taking a few slow steps forward, he crossed his room and sat carefully on the edge of the bed. He swiped his fingers over the envelope, held his breath, and picked it up, ripping open the end and pulling out the smaller one inside.

Stamped on the outside he read the words he knew would be there: _Grayson County State Penitentiary. _Pushing out a slow breath, he tore open the envelope and pulled the letter out. His eyes scanned over the words, nearly the same ones that had graced the last three letters he'd received.

_Jace,_

_I understand your reasons and respect your right not to answer my letters or accept my plea for you to visit. I can also understand why you wouldn't want to see me. But there are some things I need to tell you, things you need to know about that night, about me and your mother, and about you. These are things you should have been told long ago, but not things I feel comfortable divulging in a letter. You should hear them from me. I think—no, I know these things will help you to see why I did what I did. Maybe you won't agree, and it's all right if you don't, but I ask that you please reconsider seeing me. _

_I know I have no rights to you. I know your life has not been what it should have been and I fully recognize my fault in that. I'm not asking you to forgive me because I know I don't deserve it, but maybe if you come hear what I have to say, maybe someday you'll at least understand._

_~Dad_

Jace squeezed the letter in his fist and leaned his forehead against it. The letters had started coming more frequently, the tone more desperate. What was it his father could possibly want to tell him after twelve years, and why hadn't he tried to contact him earlier? Never before had he received any sort of correspondence from Michael Wayland. Not a single letter or birthday card. Nothing. But now, in the span of a couple of months, he'd received four letters. All asking the same thing.

He didn't know how he felt about his father's request. Did he want to see him? Did he want to hear him out, hear his explanation about why he did what he did? Was there any justification? Jace didn't know. He couldn't imagine any, but he had only been a child. Barely school age. Even though the images were burned into his memory, no matter how hard he tried to expunge them, he really had no idea what happened that night. He only had pictures, fragments of a whole. No one explained anything to him. No one even talked to him. All they did was drag him away, crying and screaming, into the cold, wet night. The swirling red and blue lights distorting his vision as the car pulled away.

He remembered how it felt to lie in that sterile bed wanting his mother, wanting his father, wanting—_someone._ But no one came, no one wanted him, no one cared about the little boy left all alone.

His phone vibrated against the wood of the nightstand, bringing Jace out of his memories. Picking it up, Jace managed to smile at a text from Clary.

_You're home. ~C_

_Yep, I'm home. ~J_

_Are you okay? ~C_

Jace chuckled and shook his head. She was always so concerned. It was kind of endearing.

_I'm fine. You? ~J_

_Yes, but . . . ~C_

He furrowed his brows at her incomplete message.

_But what? ~J_

Jace waited a few minutes for her to respond, growing restless wondering what was wrong. Finally, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it quickly.

_I don't like storms. ~C_

He closed his eyes and touched his phone to his forehead before responding.

_Me neither. ~J_

_Can I . . . come to you? ~C_

Jace smiled.

_Yes. ~J_

_Okay. ~C_

Jace leaned over and flicked on his bedside lamp then heaved himself off the bed, throwing the letter from his father on the nightstand and made his way to the door, turning off the overhead light in the process. He pulled it open before she even had a chance to knock. She stood on the other side, her hand poised in the air and her tired, red-rimmed eyes wide. A soft yellow camisole clung to her top and a pair of matching boy shorts hung on her hips.

He reached out and took her hand, pulling her into the room and closing the door behind her. Guiding her to him, he wrapped his arms around her and tucked her head just under his chin. "You've been crying."

She let out a slow shuttering breath. "Sometimes storms make it come back. That night."

Jace closed his eyes and brushed his lips against her head. "I know."

"All the time I try to forget, and sometimes it works. But other times . . . it's like it was just yesterday." She sighed, her body sagging limply against him. "I'm so tired, Jace."

He kissed the top of her head, withdrew his arms from around her, and grabbed her hand. "Come on." Shuffling her forward, he led her to his bed and gestured for her to lie down. She did, but didn't let go of his hand and pulled him down with her.

As he settled himself next to her, he reached over and turned off the lamp, plunging them both into darkness. Only the intermittent flashes of lightning brought any light to the room.

Jace rolled over onto his side and Clary did the same, tucking herself into him, her face buried in his chest and her hands tucked up to her chin. He slid one arm under her head, pulling her flush against him, and draped the other over her side. Clary sighed, her breath cascading over the bare portion of the top of his chest. Her hand came up and glided along his side, resting carefully over his bruise.

"How are you really?" she asked, the heat from her touch seeping through his shirt and soothing his sore ribs.

He let out a breath. "Sore."

She chuckled and nodded her head. "I bet." Moving her hand away from his side, she trailed it up and over his shoulder, following the length of his arm and tugging on it slightly. He drew it back and she took his hand, interlacing her fingers with his and brushing her lips over his knuckles. With a sigh, she said, "Jace?"

"Hmm?"

"Why don't you like storms?"

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the images starting again, turning relentlessly over and over in his mind.

"You don't have to tell me," she said, defeat sounding in her voice.

He hated making her feel this way. More than anything he wanted to tell her, to let her in and see him, all of him. But he was afraid, afraid that if he opened it up again he'd never get it closed. That it would spill out like a flood, devouring everything he'd so carefully crafted his life to be. Everything would fall prey to its blackness and nothing would survive. Least of all him. But there she lay, at his side, holding his hand and kissing his knuckles. Asking him to give her something, anything to help her understand. To let her be there for him. And damn it, he wanted her there. He wanted her to have him. The good, the bad, the wicked.

With a deep breath, he spoke. "I don't dislike storms. I just don't like what they make me think of."

"Oh," she said quietly. "And . . . what's that?"

He lowered his face to her hair, breathing in her scent to give himself the strength to speak. "The night my entire world changed. When my old life ended and this one began."


	20. Fall to Pieces

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

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_**Chapter 20: Fall to Pieces**_

_Chapter Songs: _

_**Hallelujah by Kate Voegele _

_**Why by Secondhand Serenade (song Jace is playing on the piano.)_

_**Fall to Pieces by Avril Lavigne_

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A crack of thunder erupted outside, causing Clary to jump and Jace's arms to tighten around her. Rain pounded hard and furious against the glass, and the wind blew angrily, moving the branches from the tree planted between their houses and scraping them along the siding. The world raged around them, but encircled in each other's embrace, they were safe.

Lightning flickered, filling the room with intermittent flares of white light. Amidst the flashes, Clary glimpsed the pained expression on Jace's face. She reached up and ran her fingers along his brow, trying to smooth the creases there. He glanced down at her, not saying a word.

"Do you—" She swallowed against the fear of asking the question. Not because she was scared of his reaction or that he might say no, but because she was afraid he'd say yes. As much as she wanted to know every little thing he offered to her, she wasn't sure she could handle it. Wasn't sure she'd be strong enough to be there for him like he'd been for her. Could she hold him in her arms and take away the fear and panic when it became too much for him to handle? Could she take his hand and guide him through memories that froze him in his place, unable to take even one step forward by himself? Could she wipe away his tears and tell him everything would be all right? The honest truth was, she didn't know if she could. Didn't know if she was enough to be all that he needed. But she forced the question out anyway, because he deserved it. Deserved to know she was there, whenever, wherever he needed her. She'd be what he needed—no matter what that was—because that's what he'd been for her. "Do you want to talk about it?" Her voice sounded small even to her own ears.

He didn't answer for a long while. Thunder continued to crash and the wind still whipped between the houses feverishly. "I—no—I don't know." His forehead creased once more and he closed his eyes. "No, I don't want to talk about it."

Clary blinked, feeling a combination of grief and relief swirl within her. It was a strange mixture of emotions to have. Before she could open her mouth to say anything, he spoke again.

"But, I think I probably need to."

Her breath caught and she studied him again. His eyes focused on hers, never moving away.

He bent down, touching his forehead to hers and let out a slow breath. "Clary, I—I haven't talked about this with anyone before and—I don't know if I can—about everything. Not yet—maybe—maybe not ever. But—but I want you to know me. Even if it isn't pretty. I _need_ you to know me."

She continued stroking his face with her thumb. "It's okay. You can tell me whatever you want, or not tell me." Scooting in closer, she grasped his hand with her free one. Even though her wrist was twisted awkwardly, she didn't care. "How about this? You talk—about whatever you want, and if I have questions I'll ask. If you don't want or don't feel like you can talk about that, just say so. I won't push. Okay?"

He closed his eyes and nodded, drawing in a deep breath and holding it so his cheeks puffed out a bit. After a moment, he let it out in a gush and the words flowed with it. "That night was when they took me away. The night my mom—when she—she . . ." He shook his head, his body tensing. "I'm sorry. I don't—"

"Do you not want to talk about her?"

He shook his head. Raising his eyes to her, Clary saw the pain masked behind them. "I just—I don't want to talk about my parents. I can't. Not—not now."

"Okay," she said. "I won't ask about them then."

His shoulders relaxed and he breathed out slowly.

"You said someone took you away? Where did they take you?"

His brows pinched together. "I don't know. I guess it was a hospital or something. I don't remember very well, but it seemed hospital-like. The bed was uncomfortable and everything was white. The walls, the sheets, the clothes they put on me."

Clary continued to touch him, running her fingers through his hair and rubbing her thumb across his knuckles.

He closed his eyes as another flash of lightning illuminated the room. "They put me there and no one would talk to me. No one would tell me where I was, why I was there, where my mom and dad were. I kept asking in the car on the way, but they ignored me. Once they had me in the room, they left me there for hours by myself." He opened his eyes and focused on their clasped hands, moving his thumb in the same rhythm as Clary's. "Maybe it just felt like it was that long. Maybe I fell asleep and never saw anyone else and that's why it seemed like I was alone all that time. But I just remember feeling that, feeling like I was the only one there."

Tears pricked in Clary's eyes, imagining Jace as a little kid, going through something like that. She couldn't fathom what it would have been like to be taken from her mom and having no one tell her why.

"The next day," his voice was quiet, barely audible above the cracks of thunder rumbling outside the window, "they took me from that place, still not answering my questions, still not telling me where we were going. I kept asking for my mom, not understanding at the time that she was—" His voice cut off and he swallowed hard, not finishing the thought, but Clary had a pretty good idea what he'd tried to say. "We drove out of the city and into some neighborhood that wasn't familiar to me. I remember when we stopped in front of this little house. It looked decent on the outside, normal, white picket fence, kids playing in the yard. Everything looked fine."

Clary held her breath, wanting him to continue and not wanting him to, all at the same time.

"The same woman who took me from my house the night before grabbed me out of the back seat and took me up the walk to a large woman standing on the step." Shaking his head, he let out a forced scoff. "She wore a big flowered moo moo. I don't know why I remember that, I just do." All expression left his face and he glanced up, meeting Clary's eyes. "I know I told you that after Patches was taken that that was the last time I cried." He lowered his gaze. "I lied. I cried that night and I cried the next day. I cried as they dragged me to that unfamiliar woman and into that strange house."

Clary clenched her jaw against the uncomfortable feeling crowding her throat.

"The first woman left me there, at that house, with that other strange woman's hand on my shoulder. She still never spoke to me about what happened. Still wouldn't answer my questions. There were probably about seven other kids in the yard, and they all stared at me as I continued bawling into the new woman's skirt." His brow creased and he stared into the darkness behind Clary's shoulder. "I remember the car pulling away and watching as it got smaller and smaller, and then finally disappeared. As soon as it was gone, the new woman knelt down and grabbed my face, squeezing hard and telling me she didn't tolerate crybabies, and if I didn't want to be punished I'd better stop right then. But, I was five, I didn't understand anything that was happening, so I didn't stop." His voice lowered to a whisper. "She pulled me into the house by my hair and—dealt with me." He met Clary's eyes. "And that really was the last time I cried. It only took once to show me that tears—weakness, equaled punishment."

Clary couldn't hold her own tears back any longer and they tumbled down her cheeks, landing on the pillow below. "Did they—" A sob choked in her throat, cutting off her words for several seconds before she began once more. "Did they hurt you a lot?"

He looked down and shrugged. "Some of the homes were okay and some were—not. I never stayed anywhere very long—especially if it was one of the 'not' homes. I'd get into as much trouble as possible, dealing with the consequences until they moved me again." He took in a breath. "Maybe if I'd behaved . . . maybe it wouldn't have been so bad."

"Jace," Clary gasped. "You don't think you—you deserved what they did to you, do you?"

He sighed and pulled away from her, lying on his back and raising a hand to his hair, grasping it firmly in his fist. "I don't know what I think, Clary. I mean, I was a pretty rotten kid sometimes."

She propped herself up on her elbow and leaned over him. "That's no excuse. No one should have hurt you, ever. No matter what."

He stared off into the distance, refusing to meet her gaze. She could tell he was throwing back up the walls he'd contained himself in for so long.

"Jace," she whispered. "Don't close yourself off. Please, look at me."

His eyes slipped shut and his grip on his hair tightened. "I can't."

Clary lowered her head, resting her face on his shoulder and sighing against his skin. "Okay." She turned and brushed her lips against the base of his neck. "That's enough for tonight."

She felt him nod and let out a shaky breath. He released his hold on his hair and moved to hers instead, tangling his fingers in her curls. His other hand trailed up her spine, touching her so lightly it sent shivers through her entire body.

Clary kept her lips on him, leaving behind small comforting kisses to his shoulder and collarbone. After a bit, she noticed the pace of his breathing change, becoming faster and shallower. His hand left her hair and traveled to her face. She felt him shift beside her and then she was on her back, him hovering over her. His thumb swept over her cheek lightly just before he lowered his mouth to hers, his body half covering her.

Warmth flooded through her, flowing from his lips to hers and igniting little fires throughout her. He sucked her bottom lip between his and she reciprocated by opening wider to him, letting him in, feeling, tasting, reveling. Her head spun in the most delicious way in response to how passionate, yet gentle he could be. It amazed her how much his kiss affected her. How it completely entranced her, seemingly holding her prisoner against any type of self control she might have tried to enforce. She supposed if she actually put any sort of effort toward it she may have been able to fight it off—had it been just that, but his mere presence had the ability to make her heart race in a way she didn't know it capable before.

The way her body responded to the most innocent looks or the simplest touches was indescribable. Every part of her being craved him. His heart, his mind, his soul, and of course his body. She'd be lying if she said his looks didn't leave her more than a little wanting. He was gorgeous. Any female with half a brain would think so. She'd never wanted a boy the way she wanted Jace. Never desired someone so much that she'd do whatever it took to be with them—even lie to her mother and best girlfriend. He had quickly become the sun that warmed her skin, the water that quenched her thirst, and the air that filled her lungs. The way his mouth molded around hers, capturing her inside a kiss so incredibly perfect, was enough to have her body humming, making her fear she may just shatter into a million little pieces.

Clary raised her hand to his waist, touching upon a patch of bare skin where his shirt had ridden up on the side. His heat soaked into her and called to her to touch more. Slipping discreetly under the hem of his tank top, she splayed her fingers over his side, held back a shiver, and started trailing toward his stomach, feeling the smooth skin and firm muscle underneath. Suddenly, Jace's hand circled her wrist and his lips stilled on hers. Clary stiffened immediately and her eyes flew open. Jace's stayed clenched shut.

"I'm sorry," he said, expelling a shaky breath but not loosening his grip on her arm. "It—it's a reflex." He bowed down and slumped over slightly, resting his forehead against hers, still holding tightly to her wrist.

Clary's heart sped in her chest as she raised her free hand and ran her fingers through his hair in an apologetic gesture. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean . . . I—I forgot." Her voice trembled as she scolded herself in her mind for being so stupid. How could she just forget like that? After everything he'd just told her.

He shook his head. "You didn't do anything wrong. It's me and it's stupid. I hate it." The way he spat the word "hate" showed her just how much this tortured him.

She stretched up and touched her lips to his, not kissing, just connecting the two of them together. "Jace . . ." she whispered, tugging against his hold on her, trying to remove her touch from his skin, but he tightened his grip. "I won't touch you anymore," she said quietly. "I'm just going to move my hand."

He shook his head. "I don't want you to move it." After several moments, his fingers loosened, trembling as they slowly fell away.

"Jace—"

"Please don't move it," he breathed.

Clary swallowed hard and peered up at him. His eyes were screwed shut, his jaw clenched tight, and his brows drawn together. Clary drew in a deep breath and held it before laying her hand flat against his abdomen. He flinched and grabbed her waist, his fingers digging into her flesh. His forehead pressed harder into hers and his breath came quicker.

Clary's throat closed around a sob rising from deep inside. The last thing she wanted was to cause him more pain, more discomfort. She wanted to protect him, to make him feel better, to heal him. But he said not to move. He wanted to feel her hands on him. She had to try, had to give him what he asked for, what he needed.

Closing her eyes tight, she moved her hand further inward, smoothing over his abs, her fingers trailing perfectly between the ridges. His skin was smooth except for a smattering of raised patches near the top of his stomach. Her eyes stung behind her lids as the sensations under her fingertips sent pictures of what she couldn't see to her mind.

Scars.

Some very small and straight, and others longer and jagged.

She wanted to cry for so many reasons. Not the least of which was, regardless of the imperfections on his skin, she could feel he was beautiful. Lean and smooth. Perfectly sculpted. She couldn't fathom how anyone could have hurt him like this. But more than the obvious pain and damage inflicted on him physically, if what she could feel was any indication, she could only imagine the scars he bore on the inside, the pictures and memories of how they got there that played over and over in his mind when he looked at his naked flesh.

Tears slipped down her cheeks as she moved her hand higher up to his chest, brushing a larger, more uneven area. Jace's breath hitched once more, his body shaking slightly above her, and a small sound escaped from his throat. Not a groan or a grunt, but more like a short whimper Clary would associate with pain.

Unable to hold it back any longer, a strangled sob exploded from her. She ripped her hand away from his skin and reached up to hold his face. "I can't—I—" she said through the lump in her throat, her fingers trailing his cheeks, holding him tight to her. "I can't do it. Not when it—I just can't."

Jace laid his trembling hands on her cheeks, his breathing slowing a little now that her hands were off him. "Don't cry. I'm sorry. I don't know why it—God, I'm sorry."

Clary's throat tightened more at the fact he was apologizing to her. For what? She couldn't understand what he had to be sorry for. She wanted to tell him that, but she couldn't seem to form any words. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder, breathing him in. He squeezed her, gripping so tight she found it hard to breathe, but at that point, she'd rather suffocate than have him loosen his hold.

"Don't feel sorry for me. I don't want that, Clary."

She shook her head. "That's not it. I'm angry. I'm so angry." She sucked in a ragged breath, inhaling more of his scent as she did. "I just don't understand how anyone could do that. You were a little boy. How could they—"

"It was a long time ago. It's over now."

Clary pulled back and cupped his cheeks. "I don't care." She shook her head. "It still affects you, still haunts you. As much as you put on a tough face, you hurt all the time. You may be able to hide all these scars under your clothes, but you can't hide the ones on the inside. Not from me. I see it in your eyes. I hear it in your voice. I feel it in your touch." She closed her eyes and pressed her face to his. "I wish I could hurt them for what they did to you. That I could force them to look at you and see how much you deserved them to love you like I do. To show them how amazing you are. If I could, I would do all of that. I'd do anything to take this all away from you."

Jace stiffened. "Clary—" His voice came out strained. "Did you—What did you just say?"

She pulled back and met his wide golden eyes, furrowing her brows as she thought back to the last thing she'd said. "That I'd do anything to take it all away from you."

He shook his head. "Before that."

"Um, that you're amazing?" God, was he going to gloat that she'd said that? Now?

"Before that," he said quietly.

Clary stared at him, not having any clue why he was acting so strange. "That I wished I could force them to see how much you deserved them to love you like I—" Suddenly, she got it. She knew what made him react the way he had. "Oh, God." Heat flooded her face as she moved her hand to cover her mouth. She pressed her head into the pillow and tried to push away from him, but he gripped her tighter.

"I don't know why I—I didn't mean to say—I mean, we just—" No matter what she tried to say none of her sentences made sense because she did know why and she did mean what she'd said. Every single word. She'd thought she probably did before, but she hadn't let herself admit it. But now, there it was. Tears stung her eyes in mortification, fear, and anxiety. What would he say? Would he leave?

He stared at her, his eyes never moving from hers. Finally, after what felt like forever, he spoke. "Did you mean it?"

Clary opened and shut her mouth several times, trying to find a way to make it all go away. She wanted to reassure him she hadn't said it on purpose. That she didn't expect him to feel the same for her. That she didn't mean it. But she couldn't say any of those things because they were all lies. He deserved nothing less than the truth from her because God knew he'd heard enough lies throughout his life. Even if he pushed her away, even if he didn't feel the same, she owed him that. She closed her eyes and whispered the word, "Yes."

His hands fell away from her and he rolled onto his side, inhaling a deep breath. Clary's heart plummeted into her stomach. He was pulling way. He was going to leave. How could she have let that slip? It was too soon. Not something he could be expected to be comfortable with. After all the time they'd spent together, she knew this. Knew she had to be careful with him. Had to let him come to things on his own terms, in his own time. She couldn't push. She let the tears fall over her cheeks.

After a moment, she felt his fingers back on her face, wiping away the wetness. "Why are you crying?"

"Because I'm stupid." She opened her eyes and studied his unreadable expression. "I shouldn't have said that. I know you weren't ready to hear it and I—I don't even know if I was ready to say it, but it—it just came out." Reaching up, she grasped his hand. "Please, let's just forget I said it, okay? Can we do that? Please?"

Leaning down, he gently touched his lips to hers. "Maybe I don't want to forget it," he whispered, his hand rising to her hair and running through the curls hanging loose by her ear. "It's been so long since anyone has said that to me. Not since my mom, I don't think . . ."

Clary was certain her heart broke again in that moment, splintering into tiny shards. No one had told him in twelve years? Not a foster family, not a girlfriend, not the Lightwoods? No one? More tears fell, following the contours of her face until Jace's thumbs brushed them away once more.

He stared down, his eyes never leaving hers. His fingers continued to follow the line of her cheekbones, leaving her skin tingling. Clary closed her eyes against the sensation, trying to memorize how it felt to have him touch her like that. How his skin glided against hers, so perfect, so right.

When he spoke again, his voice was so quiet she almost wondered if he'd said anything at all. It was merely a breath. A short, wonderful, beautiful, time stopping breath. One that tipped Clary's world completely on its axis, spinning it out of control and sending it careening out into space without a care of where it was headed.

"Maybe . . . maybe I love you too."

.o.O.o.

Cold water poured from the faucet into Clary's outstretched hands. She splashed it onto her face, hoping the shock would serve to wake her up. Raising her head and glancing in the mirror, the dark circles under her eyes solidified the belief that her late night rendezvous had been real. When she'd woken in Isabelle's bed after being sure she'd fallen asleep curled into Jace's side, she'd questioned whether or not the whole thing had been a dream. That maybe he hadn't told her the horrible things he had. And maybe, just maybe she hadn't blurted out words she hadn't been ready to say, and he hadn't responded in the same way back to her. In just those few seconds in which she doubted the validity of her memories, an overwhelming sense of grief engulfed her at the possibility it hadn't happened. She realized then that she wanted him to feel that way about her, because she most definitely felt that way about him.

With a sigh, she dried her face on the towel hanging next to the sink and picked up her toothbrush, cleaning away the sleep from her mouth. When she finished, she gathered her mess of hair into a ponytail, shoved her toothbrush into the front pocket of her bag, and slung it over her shoulder. She opened the door and stepped out into the hall, freezing in place when she heard the soft tinkling of the piano coming from downstairs.

Walking slowly to the top of the stairs she looked down. Isabelle sat on the bottom step, her hands thrust up into her long black locks, face down, and elbows resting on her knees.

Swallowing hard, Clary made her way down to her. The music grew louder the closer she came to the bottom. Of course, she knew the voice singing the lyrics but tried to remain impassive as the sound of him swirled around her, comforting and beckoning her to go to him. When she reached her friend, she dropped her bag quietly on the floor and sat next to her.

Isabelle raised her head and removed her hands from her hair, but she didn't look at Clary. Her eyes stayed focused on the archway near the front of the hall leading to the room where the piano sat.

"He never plays when we're here," she said, her voice almost a whisper.

Clary wrapped her arm around Isabelle's shoulder and pulled her closer, resting her chin on top of her head.

"After five years, I've never actually heard him play like this. I mean, sometimes I hear his guitar at night, but it's so muted I can never really make anything out." Her words were so filled with awe and sadness, it almost made Clary choke up. She realized then just how special the fact that he'd let her hear him was. She'd known it in her mind, but she'd never really felt it. Now she did.

"He's so good," Isabelle whispered.

Clary closed her eyes and bit her lip, nodding her head in agreement.

"Why doesn't he ever play for us? I know my mom would love it. She'd probably even cry and she never cries." She turned and looked up at Clary, her eyes looking for answers Clary wasn't at liberty to give. So she tried to answer truthfully without giving away any of his secrets.

"You know, other than for her classes, my mom locks herself away when she paints. I used to think it was because she didn't like being distracted or interrupted while 'in the zone.' But really, now I think it was because sometimes the things she was painting were just too personal for her to share with anyone else."

Isabelle's eyes furrowed. "Really? But she sells her work."

"I know," Clary agreed. "It doesn't make a lot of sense, but it's the way she works best. She has to let herself become completely unguarded in order to do her best work. Even people who don't understand the draw behind an artist and her work, they can always feel if the emotion behind it is genuine." Clary shrugged. "Sometimes in order to get there, the artist has to let him or herself become completely vulnerable to whatever emotion they're trying to portray." She shrugged. "I'm like that when I draw."

Isabelle's gaze flicked back to the doorway and with a sigh she said, "He sounds so sad . . ."

Clary didn't respond. She didn't know what she could say. Most likely the best thing in this situation was to say nothing. If Jace wanted Isabelle to know, he'd tell her. It wasn't Clary's place to decide what Isabelle should know and what she shouldn't. Though, seeing the hurt in her face made Clary wish that, somehow, Jace felt comfortable enough to open up to her—to any of his family really.

Isabelle sighed and stood to her feet. Clary followed her with her eyes.

"I'm going to go get ready." Her expression still looked broken. "Are we still laying out today? It's supposed to be one of the last warm weeks and I want to take advantage of the prime tanning weather."

Clary forced a small smile. "Sure."

"Okay. I'll see you in about an hour then."

She nodded and Isabelle bounded up the stairs. Clary sat there for a few moments, listening to Jace and trying to clear Isabelle's expression from her mind. Finally, she stood and made her way quietly to the end of the hall. When she reached the archway, she leaned her shoulder against the wall and set her gaze on him.

His fingers danced over the keys of the piano almost lovingly as music poured out of him. He wore the same tank top and pajama pants from the night before, his bare arms and shoulders flexing with the movement of his hands. His hair was mussed with sleep and, no doubt, the fact that her fingers had been in it half the night. Her heart thudded hard in her chest. At that moment, she was content just to watch him, to see the way his body curled over the keys, and the way his face filled with emotion as he played.

"Are you just going to stand there staring or are you going to come in, Pippi?" he said, ending the first song and starting another, this one quieter and with no lyrics.

"I don't know." She smiled. "I was quite enjoying the view."

He didn't look up at her, but she saw a small smile pull at the corner of his mouth. "I'm sure you are. It is quite impressive."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't hold back a laugh. Making her way across the room, she sat on the bench next to him. "Isabelle heard you."

His fingers continued to move smoothly across the keys. "I know."

Turning to him, she raised her brows. "You knew?"

"Of course. Isabelle isn't exactly quiet when she comes down the stairs. A herd of elephants are capable of making less noise."

Clary stared at him, noticing a few curls kept falling into his eyes. She reached over and lightly ran her fingers under them, tucking them back. Jace's eyes closed briefly at her touch, but he continued playing and kept his gaze on the piano. "I don't think you know how much that meant to her to hear you."

He said nothing.

"Or maybe you do." She studied his face, noting the small crease between his brows. "Are you okay?"

After a moment, he shook his head.

Clary's chest squeezed. "Is this about last night?" Her insecurities rose to the surface and she started to fear that maybe he regretted telling her about his past—and everything else they'd admitted to each other. "Do you wish you hadn't told me all that stuff? That you hadn't said—"

The music stopped abruptly and suddenly his golden gaze was upon her, burning into her flesh. "No. I'm glad I told you." He leaned over and touched his lips softly to hers. "And I meant every word I said afterward."

She closed her eyes briefly and let out a relieved breath. "Okay."

His fingers lingered along her jaw for another moment before he withdrew and grabbed a long white envelope she hadn't noticed was sitting on top of the piano. He handed it to her, not saying a word.

She furrowed her brow and took it from his hand. Looking up, she asked, "What's this?"

Jace turned back to the piano, his eyes going blank and his fingers moving over the keys once more. "A letter from my father."

Clary glanced down at the writing on the front of the envelope. "Another one?"

"The fourth one since we moved here, to be exact."

She looked up at him. "Four? You only told me about one."

He didn't answer, but she noticed his breathing speed slightly.

"What does he want?"

"Read it."

Lowering her gaze, she carefully removed the letter and read it in its entirety. When she finished, she folded it back up and placed it in the envelope. "Are you going to go?"

"I don't know."

"Why not? I mean, why don't you know?"

He stopped playing, his fingers pushing hard on the keys, letting a loud, off key chord reverberate through the house. "Because I don't know if I want to hear his excuses. Maybe I don't want to know why he did what he did. Why he left me to those people and let me grow up without a mother or a father."

Clary's throat clenched and she reached out to him, but he was up and standing with his back to her in front of the window before she could blink. Slowly, she rose from the bench and moved behind him. Reaching up, she laid her hands on his shoulders, sliding them down his arms before tucking them around his waist. She leaned her forehead against his back between his shoulder blades. After a moment, she felt his head drop forward, his body sag, and his hands drop to hers.

Turning around, he wrapped his arms around her back and touched his face to her head. "I don't know what to do," he said into her hair. "What am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know." She looked up at him. "What do you want to do?"

Jace rested his forehead on hers and closed his eyes. "I don't know. I don't know anything anymore." He opened his eyes and moved back. "The only thing in my life that I'm sure of is you. How I feel about you. Everything else is completely out of my grasp."

She raised one hand, tracing the curve of his jaw with her fingers. "Remember when I had that attack after going into Jonathan's room and you told me to hold onto you, and we'd get through it together?"

He nodded.

"Well, now it's my turn to return the favor." She moved her other hand to his cheek and pulled him to her, kissing him softly. "Hold onto me now, Jace," she whispered against his lips.

He released a breath and reached up, clutching her face firmly in his hands and crushing his mouth to hers. The intensity of his kiss made her knees give just a little and she sagged against him. Her mind went completely blank, and all she was aware of was Jace. His hands, his lips, his body pressed against hers. She forgot where she was, and even who she was for a few precious seconds, utterly ensnared by him.

A sharp gasp and a loud bang finally broke through her haze and they drew apart, their eyes staring wide at each other, both of them coming to the same realization at the same moment. They turned their heads slowly toward the sound, their hands still clasping each other's faces and their bodies positioned tightly together.

Isabelle stood in the archway, her hair hanging in wet strands over her shoulders and her eyes wide and focused right on them. Her gaze moved between them as if she were trying to understand what she was seeing. "You . . ." Her mouth opened and closed as she tried to form the words. Finally, her lips snapped shut and her jaw clenched. She narrowed her eyes and closed her hands into fists at her sides. "Damn it all to hell!" She pivoted on her heel and started toward the door.

"Isabelle, wait!" Clary pulled away from Jace and started toward the doorway.

Isabelle spun around, her expression masked in anger. She raised her hand and pointed. "Don't you even talk to me right now, Clary. You lied to me." Her eyes flickered back to Jace and then met Clary's again. "You both lied to me. I should have expected this from him. But not you Clary. Not you." She pursed her lips and Clary could have sworn she saw tears forming in Isabelle's eyes. "Damn it all." She turned once more, grasped the knob, and flung the door open, letting it crash against the wall and knocking a crystal vase to the floor. She didn't even flinch when it smashed into a million tiny shards, spreading far and wide across the hardwood.


	21. Here We Are

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

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_**Chapter 21: Here We Are**_

_ Chapter Songs:_

**Battlefield by Jordin Sparks (Scene 1)

**Kindly Unspoken by Kate Voegele (Scene 2)

**18th Floor Balcony by Blue October (Scene 4) Amazingly amazing song—listen to it. *Lyrics to 18th Floor Balcony are owned by Blue October

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"Isabelle!" Clary called, taking a few steps toward the door before she felt Jace's fingers close around her arm. Looking up, she met his gaze.

"Clary—"

"She's my friend, Jace. I have to try and make this right."

"I know, it's just—" He let go of her and raised his hand to his hair, tugging on the mess of curls. "Isabelle's really not very nice when she's mad. At least wait for me to get some shoes," he pointed to his bare feet, "and I'll go with you."

Clary couldn't help but grin. Standing on tip toes, she brushed her lips over his cheek, her hand ghosting against his face. "I'll be fine. Just give me a few minutes with her, okay? I'm not sure how receptive she'll be seeing us together after . . . well, you know."

The look on his face let Clary know he wasn't happy with the idea, but he nodded anyway. She reached down and grasped his hand, squeezing it once before turning away and continuing to the door. Glass crunched under her shoes and she grimaced at the mess. Maryse would not be happy.

Clary stepped out the door into the foggy haze. The air was warm, but thick and heavy. Moisture from the storm the night before clung to everything, making Clary's skin instantly sticky. Looking out, she spotted Isabelle half way across the yard, heading in the direction of the street.

She hurried down the stairs onto the grass, wetness seeping through her canvas shoes and dampening her socks. "Isabelle, please. Would you just stop?"

Isabelle halted, her shoulders stiffening before she finally turned and faced Clary. Her brows were drawn together, hurt and anger plain on her face. "Why should I Clary? So you can spin more lies my way? So you can continue to tell me you're not interested in anyone and then go behind my back and suck face with my brother?"

Clary closed her eyes briefly. "It's not like that."

"Oh really?" Isabelle crossed her arms over her chest. "What's it like then? Because it certainly looked like that. Did you not tell me there was no one you were interested in? Were you not just stuck to Jace's face in the middle of my house?"

"That's not what I meant—"

"Then what do you mean, Clary? Are you trying to tell me I was hallucinating? Because if I was going to go to the trouble to do that I would damn well imagine something other than you and Jace together."

"Izzy, please . . . It's not just—we didn't mean—we weren't just kissing. It's not like that."

Isabelle quirked a brow. "Are you trying to tell me you two have a thing?"

"I don't know what you mean by 'a thing,' but we're—we're—" Clary really didn't know why she couldn't articulate what she and Jace were. It was simple wasn't it? No, it wasn't which was why this was so hard.

Isabelle laughed. A cruel, disbelieving laugh. "God, you're so naïve." Her eyes bored down on Clary. "You really think he's into you?" She shook her head. "This is what I tried to warn you about from the beginning. This is what he does, Clary. He gets in your head, makes you swoon and act all stupid, gets you attached and then he breaks your heart. You're not the first and you won't be the last."

"That's not going to happen."

"Oh yeah? And what makes you think you're so different from every other girl? Each and every one said the same thing. 'I'm different.' And guess what, none of them were and it always ended the same. Jace gets what he wants, and I lose a friend. Every. Single. Time." She narrowed her eyes. "Jace is incapable of caring about anyone but himself. He's proven that over and over and over again." Tilting her head to the side, she studied Clary. "I'm curious though, what did he do to lure you in? Tell you how pretty you are? Give you those puppy dog eyes and pouty lips? Or maybe it's the bad boy you like? The sinister grin? What's your poison, Clary? Which one did he get you with?"

"Stop it, Isabelle." Clary felt the anger building.

"Why?" She took a few steps forward. "Hitting a nerve? Making you realize how stupid this whole thing is?"

"No, because you're wrong. You don't even know him."

She threw her head back and laughed. "I don't know him? He's my damn brother for Christ's sake. I've lived with him for five years."

"And you admitted yourself that he doesn't share things with you."

"And he does with you?" A tinge of jealousy flashed through her eyes.

Clary hesitated. "That's not what this is about."

Isabelle took another step closer. "You actually think you know him better than I do? You've been in our lives for what? A few months? I've watched him grow up, Clary. I've watched how he treats girls, how he disregards authority, how he doesn't care who he hurts or why."

"I don't think I know him better, just different."

She snorted. "Yeah well, if you're talking in the carnal sense, then yeah, you got me there."

Clary scrunched her nose. "Ugh, Isabelle. I'm not going there with you."

"Just make sure you protect yourself, from what I hear Jace has been around the block a time or thirty."

"Jesus, Izzy." Clary looked away and felt her cheeks heat, really not wanting to find out about Jace's past from his sister.

"What?" Her eyes widened. "Don't tell me you already—"

"Isabelle! No! God, what kind of girl do you think I am?"

She shrugged. "The type of girl that swaps spit with Jace. All the others were more than willing to do whatever it took to get him. Why should you be any different?"

Anger burned inside her. "Because I _am_ different. I didn't set out to 'get him.' And he didn't try to lure me in, either. It just happened. We didn't plan it, and it's not like we didn't think about you either."

She laughed dryly, "Oh really? It certainly doesn't seem like you two were thinking about anyone but yourselves. Does your mom even know? She doesn't does she? What's she gonna say when she finds out about this thing you two have going on?"

"Isabelle, please." Clary reached out, but Isabelle yanked her arm away. "I never meant to hurt you. Honest. We just—knew how strongly you reacted to us even talking and knew you wouldn't like this."

"Don't you think I had my reason's, Clary? That maybe I was trying to protect you?"

Clary swallowed. "Yes. But like I told you, I'm a big girl and I can make my own decisions.

She narrowed her eyes. "Obviously you can't. You're too naïve and stupid to see that he's playing you. He won't ever care about you. Won't ever be able to be what you think you want him to be."

Clary fought back the tears stinging her eyes. She did not want to cry. Not now.

"That's enough, Izzy." Jace's voice rang out from behind Clary.

Isabelle's eyes flickered to the space just over Clary's shoulder. Clary turned and saw Jace standing a few feet behind her, his eyes locked on Isabelle.

"What? Are you afraid I'm going to tell her something you don't want her to know? Something that will put a stop to your little game?"

"No." He moved closer, stopping just beside Clary but keeping enough distance between them as to not irritate Isabelle further. "Tell her whatever you want about me, she deserves to hear it. Deserves to hear what an ass I've been. But don't talk to her like that. She hasn't done anything wrong."

"Okay, fine then." She turned her gaze on Clary. Something flashed in her eyes that made Clary somewhat afraid. "Did I ever tell you about my friend, Maia?"

Jace groaned, but said nothing.

"No," Clary answered, a little nervous to hear what Isabelle had to say. She glanced at Jace, but he didn't look at her. He kept his eyes glued to Isabelle.

"She was my best friend back in the city. We grew up together. Spent our whole lives braiding each other's hair and painting our toenails. We were really tight. She helped me deal with the string of friends I lost due to him." She cocked her finger toward Jace. "First it was Camy, then Abigail, Krista, Melanie, Sarah, Danielle—am I missing any, Jace?"

He still said nothing, just chewed on the inside of his lower lip while letting Isabelle vent. Clary began feeling more and more uncomfortable. Not because Jace had had so many girlfriends, but because it did seem as though he purposefully picked Isabelle's friends.

"Anyway, Maia and I vowed she'd never get taken in by him, and for a long time it worked. Until the night of the party."

Clary swallowed hard.

"Alec's friends talked him into throwing one when our parents and Max were away. He invited all of our friends, and some of the older guys brought alcohol. Things got really crazy. I lost track of Maia—until I went upstairs to get a towel to clean up some jerk's puke and caught them together. He had her backed up against the wall, half her clothing gone—though he was curiously still completely dressed." She cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes at Jace.

Clary was right; she didn't want to hear this.

"Needless to say, I blew a gasket, but ended up forgiving Maia because she was drunk."

Jace scoffed. "Nice how she gets off for that and I don't."

Isabelle put her hands on her hips. "Well, she wouldn't have been if you hadn't given it to her in the first place."

"I realize you believe I'm capable of magically making anyone do anything I want, and as much as I appreciate the confidence boost, it wasn't like I forced it down her throat with a funnel or anything. She did it all on her own."

"Well it was your fault for treating her like absolute crap afterward! She really liked you and you acted like she didn't exist, like nothing happened."

"I didn't remember anything had happened! I already told you that."

"Even if you had it wouldn't have made a damn difference would it? You still would have ignored her. Still would have treated her exactly the same as you did."

"Wait! Wait!" Clary said, holding her hand up in front of her. Her head spun from their arguing. Both Isabelle and Jace looked at her. "So, you're mad because Jace made out with your friend while they were both drunk and then didn't remember? Or didn't return her feelings afterward?" Confusion clouded her mind. Yeah, the situation sucked and she probably would have been pissed had Jonathan ever caused her to lose friends. But she just couldn't understand such a strong reaction from Isabelle.

"No, I'm pissed because he knew she was my best friend and he knew she was fragile. She'd always been overly sensitive. Insecure. His total disregard for her sent her over the edge and her parents had to have her committed for depression."

Jace raised his brows and his mouth dropped open. "Is that what you think? Really? You think it's my fault she was committed?"

"Of course I do. She was fine before you came along and screwed with her."

"I never screwed with her. I was drunk off my ass at that party and didn't know what the hell I was doing. I don't remember any of it." He shook his head, an incredulous look on his face. "All this time I just assumed you hated me because I'm an ass—which I fully admit and own up to. But to think, you've just been blaming me for this—Jesus, Isabelle, I thought you were smarter than that."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Jace crossed his arms over his chest and hesitated. "Mom and Dad didn't want you to know."

"Damn it, Jace, you better tell me before I lose my patience and kick your ass right here in front of your little girlfriend."

Jace rolled his eyes. "Like you even could, though it would be interesting to see you try." He paused before continuing. "Maia wasn't fragile. She wasn't committed for depression."

"You're such a liar," Isabelle said. "Her parents flat out told me she was depressed. That she tried to kill herself. Why would they tell me that if it wasn't true?" Her voice shook with anger.

"Maybe because they didn't want anyone else to know how crazy she was. God knows if it was my kid I wouldn't want to be broadcasting that all over the place."

"If she was crazy it was because you and your assishness made her that way."

"I already told you I admit to being an ass with those other girls. Worse than an ass. And I screwed up with Maia. Drunk or not, I shouldn't have gone anywhere near her. But I didn't do anything to make her act the way she did."

"What are you talking about?"

"Christ, I don't want to talk about this." He paused and rubbed his hand over his face before continuing. "It started off small, phone calls, texts, notes. A few here and there. I shrugged it off, told her I wasn't interested and to leave me the hell alone, that the party had been a mistake. Needless to say, she didn't appreciate that. The notes and texts increased, sounding more and more crazy. Then she started the threats and putting dead things in my locker and car." He shrugged. "I did what I had to do after that. Told Mom and Dad. They called the police. During the investigation, the cops found out she'd also done the same things to Catcher MacDonald and Steve Warson. And that's why her parents had her committed. Not because she was depressed or because she tried to kill herself, but because she was an obsessive stalker."

"That's—that's not true." Isabelle's voice wavered in denial.

Clary glanced over at Jace, his face was drawn and completely serious. She knew without a doubt he wasn't lying.

He threw his hands up in the air. "Fine. If you want to just keep on believing that go ahead. I'm not going to try to stop you. You want to stay mad at me? Whatever. But don't take this out on Clary, it's not her fault."

Isabelle's eyes narrowed. "I'm not mad at her because of this. This is why I'm mad at you. This is why I think you are the king of asses everywhere. Why I don't trust you and why I don't know if I ever can." She turned to Clary and pointed. "I'm mad at her because she was my friend and she betrayed me by keeping this a secret. By caring more about this little fling than our friendship. I'm mad at her because I asked her straight up if she was interested in someone and she said no. She lied to my face. She walked into my house, stayed the night in my room, all the while she was secretly messing with my brother." She looked back at Jace. "That's why I'm mad at her. It actually has nothing to do with you."

Jace crossed his arms over his chest once more. "So, if it had been anyone else—other than me—and she acted in the same way, you'd be just as pissed?"

Isabelle hesitated for a fraction of a second. Almost short enough to go unnoticed, but not to Clary. "Yes."

"Izzy," Clary spoke at last. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just—it was stupid not to. I wasn't trying to lie, wasn't trying to be a bad friend."

"Yeah, well, you were."

Clary looked down at the ground. "I know. It's just—it's so complicated with my mom and everything. I—I'm sorry. But I promise, I won't do it again."

Isabelle looked away.

Clary closed the distance between them and placed her hand on Isabelle's shoulder. "Please Izzy, I don't want to fight with you. I still want to be your friend."

Isabelle turned back slowly, her eyes meeting Clary's before shrugging her hand off her shoulder. "Yeah, well, I'm just not sure I want to be yours." She turned on her heel, and walked away, her silhouette disappearing through the lingering fog at the edge of the yard.

.o.O.o.

Three days passed before Isabelle spoke to Clary again, and that was just to tell her she had gum on the butt of her jeans. It wasn't for lack of trying on Clary's part. She tried every day to engage her, but Isabelle kept silent, never uttering a single word in Clary's direction. Simon tried to mollify things between them by discussing the most mundane things possible and annoying them, but nothing worked. Clary wanted desperately to have her friend back, but she couldn't compete with Isabelle's stubbornness.

Clary understood she was angry and hurt, but she couldn't understand why she wouldn't even give her a chance to make it right. It wasn't like she'd done anything so unforgivable—or maybe in Isabelle's eyes she had. Still, she couldn't wrap her mind around why Isabelle just couldn't forgive her, or Jace. She'd been avoiding him just as much.

In an effort to pacify her, Jace and Clary kept their distance from each other when Isabelle may be around. Clary hated it. Finally, things between them were out to enough people that they didn't have to hide at school, at least, and they avoided each other. The only time they spoke was at night, and that was usually by phone or text. It had been a mutual decision as to not egg Isabelle on and to let her calm down at bit before they threw it all in her face, but Clary was going just a little insane from it all. Her best friend wouldn't acknowledge her, and she couldn't talk to her boyfriend.

After a week of nothing from Isabelle and barely any time with Jace, Clary was about ready to explode with frustration. She sat at the lunchroom table, her forehead in her hand, her body hunched over her lunch tray. Spaghetti was the fare for the day, but Clary had no appetite. She twisted several noodles around her fork, shook them off, and picked them up again, repeating the motion over and over. Normally, she packed her lunch, but hadn't felt like it today.

Simon sauntered up to the table and paused, his arms stretched out to his sides and his palms up in the air. "Where's lunch?"

Clary didn't bother looking up. "Here." She pushed her tray toward him and laid her head down on her arms. "I didn't pack one today."

He pulled out the chair beside her, the metal legs scrapping along the tile. Plopping down in the seat, he pushed a chunk of dark hair out of his eyes and slid his glasses back up his nose with his pointer finger. "Still on the whole love embargo?"

She furrowed her brows and glanced up at him. "What?"

"You know," he twirled a large helping of noodles around the fork and shoved them in his mouth, speaking through his mouthful, "the ban on you and Jace."

Clary sighed and rested her forehead on her forearm. "There's no ban, Simon. We're just trying not to flaunt it in Isabelle's face. She's mad enough as it is."

"Aren't you glad I was so awesome about it? I mean, I could have gone all spastic on you too, you know." He pointed the fork at her. "She'll get over it. As much as I like Isabelle, I think it's really stupid for you two to be so accommodating to her. I mean, it's been a week and she still won't talk to you."

"If you're trying to make me feel better it's not working."

"I'm not trying to make you feel better. I'm trying to make you see reason." He sighed. "Look. I don't really like Jace, that's no big secret. I think he's an egotistical jerk. But you do like him, and I've seen how much better you've gotten since you've been with him—which I really don't get but that's neither here nor there. I just don't want to see you back pedal."

Clary lifted her head and smiled. "Thanks, Simon. I'm not going to back pedal. I'm feeling much better."

He grinned back. "Good." His eyes shifted to just over Clary's head and his smile faded. "Okay, here she comes. Just act normal." He thrust back his shoulders and sat straight in his chair.

Clary raised one brow. "I'm not the one acting abnormal. Sit right, you look like a moron."

He loosened his shoulders and scowled at her.

"What's his problem?" Isabelle said, eyeing Simon as she slid out the chair on the other side of Clary.

Clary glanced over at her, her eyes widening in surprise. "Excuse me? Are—are you talking to me?"

Isabelle picked up a can of pop and pulled back the tab. "Uh, yeah, who else would I be talking to?"

"You—you haven't spoken to me in like a week. Why . . .?"

She glanced at Clary with one brow raised, the hand holding her drink frozen in the air. "Would you like me to stop?"

Clary shook her head. "No. I just, well, I thought you were mad at me."

Isabelle waved her hand in the air and took a drink. She set it down on the table and picked up a bag of chips. "I am mad at you."

Clary furrowed her brows in confusion and Isabelle sighed, setting her food down and turning to Clary.

"I'm more hurt than mad. Hurt that you didn't feel you could tell me." Clary opened her mouth to protest, but Isabelle raised her hand to stop her. "I know I made a big deal out of you and Jace talking in the beginning, and I would have been pissed had you told me, but I would have gotten over it." She sighed. "I'm not going to say I like it 'cause I don't know if I do. But I'm not really mad. Not anymore." She inhaled a shaky breath and raised her gaze to Clary's. "You don't know how hard these last five years have been. How much it hurt to love him and have him push us all away."

Clary blinked against the stinging in her eyes.

"All we wanted was to help him. All of us. Mom, Dad, Alec, and me. We just wanted to be his family and he wouldn't let us. But, since we moved here," she looked down and fiddled with her fingers, "he's been so different." She looked up. "He eats dinner with us. He jokes around with me." She paused. "He smiles."

Clary sucked in a sharp breath and her eyes flickered up and found his golden head across the cafeteria. He was laughing with his friends. She couldn't help the smile tugging at her lips. When she glanced back down, she found Isabelle studying her curiously.

"What?"

Isabelle grinned and shook her head. "I was such an idiot."

"What are you talking about?"

"That I didn't see it. You two are so obvious. It's disgusting."

Clary scowled and sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Isabelle snorted and picked up her can of pop once again. "Whatever. I should have realized it in the way you look at him. It's gagworthy. You've got it so bad. You're totally in love with my brother."

Biting back a grin, Clary rolled her eyes. "Shut up."

Isabelle's eyes widened. "I was just messing with you but . . . are you?"

Clary felt heat rise from her chest and pool into her cheeks. She shrugged and looked down.

Isabelle laughed. "God, you really are." When she stopped, her gaze lingered on Clary and her expression changed from amusement to something else entirely. She bit her lip and drew in a breath. "Thank you."

Clary frowned. "For what?"

Isabelle hesitated and glanced over in Jace's direction before turning back. "For finding what was hidden underneath all the armor." Her eyes stayed right on Clary's. "For finding _him._"

.o.O.o.

The last bell of the day finally rang. Clary pulled herself up from the small desk in the back corner of the classroom and gathered her books. Shoving them into her bag, she thought back to what happened at lunch. Isabelle thanked her. She still couldn't wrap her mind around that. Why had she thought whatever was going on with Jace was due to her? She hadn't done anything. He'd done more for her than she'd done for him at this point. She'd been the one breaking down and he'd been her rescuer.

Making her way out into the hall, she moved to her locker, needing to grab her geometry book before heading home. A loud sigh sounded beside her. She peeked over and spied Isabelle leaning against the wall, picking at her nails.

"What's up, Iz?" Clary asked while juggling her bag and the math book.

"Oh, nothing." She paused and glanced up. "I was just wondering, why don't you and Jace act like a couple?"

Clary slowed her movements. "Well, we didn't want anyone to know," she said quietly.

"No, I mean now. Now that I know and Simon knows . . ."

Clary sighed. "We're trying to respect your feelings Isabelle. You know, not shove it in your face and all. Plus, we're just kind of used to acting like there's nothing going on in public."

Isabelle screwed her lips to the side and chewed on the inside of her mouth, her eyes settled on something over Clary's shoulder. "Well, I think you need to change that."

Clary gaped at her. "What?"

Isabelle lifted her chin to something behind Clary.

Clary furrowed her brows and turned around. Her mouth fell open when her eyes landed on none other than Kaelie, trying her hardest to get at Jace. He tried to ignore her and pack his bag, but she'd plastered her body up against his and was running her blood red nails through the hair at the nape of his neck. Clary watched as he tried to subtly nudge her away with his elbow, but Kaelie was relentless.

"You need to stake your claim quick or else that skank is never going to lay off."

Clary turned back. "What do you mean 'stake my claim?' How?"

Isabelle shrugged. "I don't know. Let her know he's yours."

Clary's cheeks burned, still not used to Isabelle knowing and being sort of okay with it.

Isabelle sighed. "Listen, I can tell this is all new to you so let me give you a few pointers." She glanced up momentarily before continuing. "As disgusting as this seems to me to even say this considering the fact that he's my brother, I feel like I need to lay it out there for you." She took a deep breath before continuing. "Jace is what most girls would call hot. Everywhere he goes, girls want him and they try to get him. It's always been that way. And, up until now, he's played that out, letting them chase him and think they've caught him. He's a big ass flirt. Always has been, and girls pick up on that even when he's not trying."

Clary stared at her, trying to understand what she was telling her.

"You need to make it very clear to these hobags that he is off the market."

"And how do you propose I do that?" She crossed her arms over her chest.

A small grin pulled at the corner of her mouth. "Just go tell her."

"You mean—just go up to her and tell her to back off?"

"Yep." Isabelle nodded once.

"I—I don't know—"

"Fine." Isabelle shrugged and her eyes flicked back to Jace. "If you like having that skank hanging all over your man then by all means stand here and do nothing."

Clary glanced back over her shoulder, heat flooding her face as she studied Kaelie's display. She felt the possessiveness crawl up into her chest, spreading throughout her body and erupting into a raging inferno. "All right. Let's go." She slammed her locker shut and started forward.

Isabelle squealed and marched up to her side, her grin huge. "This is gonna so rock."

"So, you're going to have my back if she tries to punch me right?"

"Hell, yes! I'd love to get a fistful of her trampaliscious hair."

Clary chuckled. "Okay then, let's do this." She held her hand up and she and Isabelle bumped fists like she'd seen guys do a million times before.

As soon as they neared where Jace and Kaelie stood, Isabelle tapped Kaelie on the shoulder. When she turned, Clary slide in between her and Jace. He furrowed his brows and she smiled up at him, winking before looking back down.

"What the hell do you want?" Kaelie spat at Isabelle.

Isabelle grinned. "Oh not much, just giving my girl the chance to get situated."

Kaelie let out a disgusted sound and whipped back around, her nose almost grazing Clary's in the process. She stumbled back a step.

"Hey, there," Clary said with a smile.

Kaelie narrowed her eyes. "Get the hell out of my way, freak."

Clary pretended to think about the request. "Hmm, no, I don't think I will."

"What? Did you—did you just tell me no?"

"Are you deaf? Because I'm pretty sure I spoke quite clearly, but if you need me to I'll repeat myself. No. I. Don't. Think. I. Will." Clary cocked her head to the side. "Got it that time, Princess?"

Isabelle stifled a laugh. Kaelie glanced over her shoulder for a second before looking back. "What the hell is going on?"

"Well, you see," Clary said. "Not only do you seem to be deaf, but you also appear to be blind. This poor boy has been trying to politely—and knowing him, probably not so politely—ward off your advances for some time but you just don't seem to get the message, so let me spell it out for you. He's not interested."

"Oh yeah? What the hell do you know anyway?"

"I know that if you don't keep your hands off him I may have to mess up your pretty little manicure and possibly your make up—which you wear too much of by the way. You think it makes you look pretty but it just adds to the skank factor."

Kaelie narrowed her eyes. "You think you're brave talking to me like that? You think that just because you're his neighbor or whatever you can just tell me what I can and can't do to him? I can do whatever the hell I want."

"No, you can't. And no, not because I'm his neighbor. I can tell you to keep your hands off him because he's mine. Got it. Mine."

Kaelie laughed, sounding very much like a hyena once again. "Oh, that's priceless. You and him? Yeah, like I'd believe that." She stepped forward, her nose actually touching Clary's this time. "He's so far out of your league he can't even see yours from where he's at."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, that's so."

Clary nodded and stepped back a little. "Jace?"

"Yeah, Pippi?" he said, the amusement evident in his voice.

"I don't think she believes me."

"I think you're right." His hands came up and settled on her hips. Kaelie's gaze flickered down and a small crease formed between her brows. She glanced up again, narrowing her eyes.

Clary gave her a smile and turned to face Jace. "Maybe we need to prove it to her."

A small grin spread over his lips. "Maybe we do."

Clary stared up into his eyes, seeing that he was game. "Isabelle, you might want to look away."

"Oh, no, I'll just focus on the skank's face. This is just too good to miss."

"Make it good, Goldie," Clary whispered.

"Have I ever not?"

Clary smiled and reached up, fisting her hands in his shirt and stood on tip toes. Yanking hard against the fabric, she pulled him down to her, crushing his mouth her hers. He didn't disappoint in his performance either. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her body flush against him as his lips assaulted her, opening up almost immediately and plunging his tongue into her mouth. She probably should have felt embarrassed that they were doing this out in the middle of a crowded hallway with everyone looking at them, but as always when Jace kissed her, all of those people fell away. She was vaguely aware of the hoots and catcalls sounding around them, as well as the horrified huff and swirl of wind as Kaelie stormed off, but for the most part, she was gone, wrapped up in a cocoon of Jace as always.

After a few moments, he pulled away. She opened her eyes slowly, only to be met by his smirk.

"What are you grinning about?" she asked.

"Do you have any idea how hot that was? Any at all?"

Clary's cheeks burned. "Um . . ."

He laughed and placed another chaste kiss on her lips before letting her go completely.

"Sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to go all PDA on you."

"Does it look like I'm complaining? Actually, I should be thanking you. I was so sick of her."

She eyed him. "No, you don't look like you're complaining."

"Well then, stop your apologizing." He slung his arm over her shoulder and turned her around, pulling her into his side before pausing. "Izzy," he said as they faced her.

Isabelle looked at them, her lips pursed. "For the record, I'd like to say that that was utterly disgusting. I seriously think I might vomit."

Clary giggled and leaned into Jace.

Isabelle smiled. "But I'm glad to see you two together. And I was right, the look on Queen Skankula's face was priceless. I wished I would have had my camera." Her eyes lowered to the ground before meeting theirs again. "I'm sorry for how I acted—to both of you."

Jace raised a brow. "Admitting you were wrong now, Izzy?"

She narrowed her eyes. "No, jackass, I'm never wrong and I'm still pissed that you kept it from me, but I can see this is different so I'll let it slide—for now."

"How generous of you," he said with a grin.

"But seriously though," she continued as they walked down the hall. "I think you two must spend too much time together."

"What are you talking about?" Clary asked. "I've barely seen him all week."

Isabelle smirked. "Did you hear your sassy self back there? You sounded almost exactly like him."

"What? No I didn't."

Jace laughed. "Yeah, you kind of did. My assyness must be rubbing off on you. I'm so proud."

Clary furrowed her brows and stared straight again. "Well then, I probably should spend more time away from you."

Jace stopped and pulled her closer to him. "Not a chance, Pippi. You're stuck with me now."

Clary grinned. "Promise?"

"Oh God!" Isabelle sputtered, making fake gagging noises. "Here comes my lunch." She raced off down the hall and out the doors.

Jace looked after her with a grin. "This is going to be more fun than I thought."

Clary smiled and tucked her arm around his waist, pulling him down the hall. "Most definitely."

.o.O.o.

Clary lay on her stomach on Isabelle's bed, waiting for her nails to dry. Isabelle had insisted on giving Clary a manicure even though she told her she'd just chew her nails all off anyhow.

"So," she plopped down next to Clary, a bottle of red polish in her hands, "how long, exactly has this been going on?"

Clary groaned and laid her head down on the bedspread. "Do you really want to do this? I mean, I thought we were okay?"

"We are. I just want to know because, well, that kiss was pretty, um, yeah."

Clary peered up at Isabelle. "I thought you weren't going to look."

"It was pretty hard to miss."

Clary sighed and sat up. "That part, not very long. Since the night of the dance."

Isabelle nodded and opened the bottle of polish. "And before?"

"Before that we were just friends."

Isabelle paused and glanced over. "Friends."

"Yeah. I mean, we'd see each other here and there and we—well, we talked."

Isabelle went back to painting. "It just seems so weird to me. I mean, he never 'talked' to anyone."

"We understand each other," Clary said slowly, not wanting to make Isabelle feel badly.

"Does he, you know, really talk to you." She met Clary's eyes. "I mean, really?"

"Sometimes. He's—he's still pretty closed off about a lot of things."

Isabelle sighed. "But he does talk."

"Yeah, he does."

"Good." Isabelle stood and walked over to her vanity, placing the bottle of red with the rest of her collection.

Clary stared across the room at the door, wondering what Jace was doing. She'd noticed the somber look on his face after he'd come back with the mail, a large manila envelope in his hand. He didn't speak or even acknowledge anything was wrong, but he seemed distracted enough for Clary to notice. She sighed.

"You wanna go see him?"

Clary blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. "What?"

Isabelle grinned. "Do you want to go see him?"

"Oh, uh," Clary stammered, wanting nothing more at that moment. "I mean, it's okay if I—"

Isabelle laughed. "It's all right. Go. I'm willing to share." She winked.

Clary grinned and stood from the bed. "Thanks, Izzy."

She waved her off. "No problem. I'm just gonna chill for a bit anyway." She grabbed her iPod and flopped down on her bed, holding the little purple player up. "Wouldn't want to hear any noises or anything."

Clary scowled. "I already told you we don't—"

Isabelle laughed again. "I know. I was just screwing with you. Have fun."

Clary rolled her eyes and stole out the door. She crossed the hall and raised her hand to knock when she heard the faint sounds of his guitar. Smiling to herself, she tapped lightly on the wood. The music stopped and she heard him call out, asking who it was.

"It's me," she said.

"Oh, well, I _suppose_ you can come in." His voice teased from the other side of the door.

She giggled and twisted the knob. He sat at the head of the bed, leaning against his pillows with his guitar in his lap. His fingers plucked at the strings, a lazy melody flowing through the room. The manila envelope lay open at his side, a long white one like the one he showed her before sat beside it.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Pippi?" He grinned.

She walked in and closed the door. Strolling across the room, she sat down on the end of his bed, facing him. "Just wanted to see you."

"Hmm." He glanced down at the guitar, strumming a few chords.

She studied him for a moment, noticing the slight crease between his brows. "You okay?"

He glanced up. "Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

She let her eyes fall to the mail on the bed. His followed.

"Oh, that." He sighed. "Same old, same old."

She nodded and studied the navy blue bedspread, not wanting to push, but desperately wanting to hear his thoughts.

After a few moments, he spoke, his voice quiet as he picked at his guitar. "I think I might go."

Clary's head snapped up. "Really?"

He nodded.

"Wh—when?" For some reason, the prospect of him going to see his father made her extremely nervous. She didn't know why, couldn't pinpoint the exact reason for the pang his words set off in her chest.

"I'm not sure. Soon probably." He looked up at her. "I don't think he's going to stop until I come."

She scooted a little closer, reaching out and resting her hand on his knee. "You don't have to, you know."

"I know, but—I think maybe I'm ready to know."

"Are you sure?"

He let out a breathy laugh and continued to finger a tune. "No. But, I don't know that I'll ever be sure. I think maybe it's just time for me to suck it up and act like a man. Get it over with and move on."

She bit her lip and lowered her gaze to his hands, watching as his fingers moved across the strings.

"It'll be fine, Clary."

She pushed back her worry and looked up at him, forcing a grin. "I'm sure it will." Crawling across the bed, she leaned over top of his guitar and brushed her lips against his. When she pulled away, she closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his. "Play me something," she whispered.

"What do you want to hear?" His breath flowed over her face causing her to shiver.

She sat back and met his eyes. "Something that tells me how you feel right now."

He raised a brow. "Right now at this very moment or right now in general?"

"Right now at this very moment."

He studied her for a second, his eyes never leaving hers. "Come here," he said.

She leaned forward again. His hand came up and ran across her cheek until it cupped the back of her neck, pulling her to him. His lips parted just before they touched hers, taking her bottom lip between his. Clary let out a slow breath and lifted her own hand to his face, tracing her fingers along his jaw. He placed a few chaste kisses to her mouth before releasing her and lowering his hand to his guitar, strumming a few chords.

Clary drew her bottom lip between her teeth, running her tongue along it and tasting him on her. She watched as his fingers moved across the strings, the music flowing around her, enveloping her inside it. His eyes met hers just before he sang the first lyrics. The emotion behind them nearly causing her breath to catch.

_*I close my eyes and I smile, knowing that everything is all right_

_To the core, so close that door_

_Is this happening?_

A small grin pulled at the corner of his mouth as he lowered his gaze.

_My breath is on your hair_

_I'm unaware  
That you opened the blinds and let the city in  
God, you held my hand  
And we stand  
Just taking in everything._

And I knew it from the start  
So my arms are open wide  
Your head is on my stomach  
And we're, we're trying so hard not to fall asleep  
Here we are  
On this 18th floor balcony.  
We're both flying away.

Clary couldn't help the sting of tears she felt in her eyes. Blinking rapidly, she held them back so she could watch him.

_So we talked about mom's and dad's  
About family pasts  
Just getting to know where we came from  
Our hearts were on display  
For all to see  
I can't believe this is happening to me_

And I raised my hand as if to show you that I was yours  
That I was so yours for the taking  
I'm so yours for the taking  
And that's when I felt the wind pick up  
I grabbed the rail while choking up  
These words to say and then you kissed me...

I knew it from the start  
My arms are open wide  
Your head is on my stomach  
And we're, we're trying so hard not to fall asleep  
Here we are  
On this 18th floor balcony...  
We're both flying away.

He looked up again, his eyes boring into hers as he continued to play. And she knew, more than any other time, he was singing to her, every word meant just for her.

_And I'll try to sleep  
To keep you in my dreams  
'til I can bring you home with me  
I'll try to sleep  
And when I do I'll keep you in my... dreams_

No matter how hard she tried to hold it at bay, a single tear fell anyway as her mouth turned up into a smile.

_I knew it from the start  
So my arms are open wide  
And your head is on my stomach  
And we're, we're trying so hard not to fall asleep  
So here we are  
On this 18th floor balcony, yeah_

I knew it from the start  
So my arms are open wide  
And your head is on my stomach  
No, we're not going to sleep

Here we are  
On this 18th floor balcony... we're both..  
Flying away

Wiping the tear from her cheek, Clary reached forward and removed the guitar from his lap, standing it up carefully on the floor beside the bed. He looked at her curiously as she climbed on top of him, her legs straddling his. She reached up and took his face in her hands, her thumbs gently sliding over his cheeks as she looked him right in the eyes. His hands settled on her hips.

"I love you," she breathed, lowering her face to his and capturing his lips without waiting for him to respond. He didn't have to say the words for her to know. She felt it in every touch, heard it in every word he sang, saw it in his eyes when he looked at her. For reasons wholly unknown to her, he loved her.

She'd heard the words every day of her life from her mother, knowing they were true. But somehow, when they came in the form of song from this beautiful, broken boy, they meant more than any of the times they were spoken to her in the past. That he could somehow feel it enough to express it to her in any way was a miracle considering he hadn't felt it or been told himself in twelve years.

And even though she didn't need to hear them, didn't need them to affirm what she already knew, he pulled away, and with his eyes closed and his lips hovering so close to hers, he said the words anyway, "I love you too."


	22. Wait For Me

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

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_**Chapter 22: Wait for Me**_

_Chapter Songs:_

_**Simon – Lifehouse _

_**Things I'll Never Say – Avril Lavigne)_

_**R-Evolve – 30 Seconds to Mars _

_**Untitled – Simple Plan (Scene 4) I didn't include lyrics, but this is what Jace is playing/singing. FF (fun fact) whenever I hear Jace sing in my mind—any of the songs—he sounds exactly like the lead singer of Simple Plan._

_**Prodigal – OneRepublic _

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Faint streams of morning light filtered through the window, casting a faded glow across Jace's barren wall. His eyes strayed to the ceiling, watching as particles of dust floated in the pale sunbeams. With a sigh, he looked over at his clock and the desk calendar sitting beside it. The date stared out at him as if it had been blown up and bolded, then circled with a red marker. He hated this day above all others. The one day he couldn't force himself to forget.

He closed his eyes and fought against the swell of pressure building in his chest. The images of her pale, lifeless face flashed before his eyes, taunting him with memories he didn't want to see. No matter how hard he fought against it, they came anyway, and suddenly he was back there. Back in the familiar room where his life ended and his nightmare began.

_Peels of thunder rolled, and the smell of coming rain saturated the air as intermittent flashes lit the sky. Pale blue curtains hung limply in front of him, blocking his view of the room. He sat quiet and huddled in the small space. She had told him, "No matter what you hear, baby, don't come out and don't look. Do you understand me, Jace? Tell Mommy you understand."_

_His little heart pounded in his chest and his body trembled. He didn't understand what was happening, but it seemed bad. His mom and dad had yelled a lot, and then his Dad ran out, leaving him and his mom alone. As scared as he was he couldn't disappoint her. "Yes, Mama."_

_Her face contorted and she leaned over kissing his forehead, her fingers tracing his cheek as she pulled away. Jace grabbed at her hand and she paused, looking back at him one last time. "I love you, baby. Stay quiet. As a mouse, okay?"_

_He nodded as her fingers slipped from his and the heavy curtain fell into place over him. Pulling his legs up to his chest, he wrapped his arms around them and held them close, his chin resting on his knees. Tears dripped from his cheeks onto his pants, dampening the material._

_A loud bang startled him, but he managed not to scream. His mother's voice, frightened and panicked, rang out._

_"I already told you, I don't know anything!"_

_A deep, muffled voice spoke back to her, but Jace couldn't hear the words._

_"No!" she yelled. "Please no, I don't have it!"_

_The sound of scuffling feet and his mother's pleading reached Jace's ears. He wanted to help her but she made him promise not to move or make a sound, and he wasn't going to disobey her. Jace turned his back to the noise and covered his ears with his hands, trying to muffle the sounds of his mother struggling, begging. Suddenly, he heard a loud crack and something smashed into his back, sending him flying forward into the large window in front of him. The glass shattered upon impact, imbedding his little body with sharp debris. He wanted to cry out, to scream for his mother, but he fought against it and stayed silent like she asked, even as the warm, sticky fluid flowed from the injuries on his chest. The tears came quicker now as pain and fear engulfed his body._

_A voice he recognized as his father's boomed through the house and more struggling ensued. An ear shattering bang ricocheted through the air and something heavy thudded to the ground. Jace's breath came quick and shallow. He squeezed his eyes shut and tightened his hold on his ears, attempting to block out the sounds of crying, the feel of the cuts on his chest, and the coppery smell of blood permeating the room._

_"Michael . . ." Fear and pain saturated his mother's voice, and then she coughed and gagged._

_Footsteps sounded and came closer to where Jace hid. He cowered in his spot, scared and trapped. Glass crunched and a whoosh of air swirled around him as the curtains moved aside. Jace peered up through tear-filled eyes meeting his father's angry gaze. His father glared down at him, his face and shirt splattered with dark fluid and his hands bruised and cut. Pain radiated through Jace's body. Blood still oozed from the cuts on his chest. His father bent down, reaching forward to grab him . . ._

"Max!" Isabelle's voice startled Jace out of his memories. "Did you take my favorite towel again?"

Jace let out a slow, shaky breath and reached up to run his hand through his hair, noticing how it trembled. Gripping a fistful of curls, he closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing deeply, pushing the pictures from his mind.

After several minutes, he felt calm enough to get out of bed. Swinging his legs over the side, he sat up and rubbed his hands over his face. The clock read eight-oh-five in the morning. His game wasn't until three and it was home, so he didn't need to be there until one. The lingering grief clung to his chest, making it feel heavy and tight.

Picking up his shirt from beside the bed, he pulled it over his head and stood, stretching his arms toward the ceiling. He walked over to the window and pulled the curtains aside, sliding the pane up. A crisp breeze wafted through the screen, causing the hairs on his arms to rise. The scent of fallen leaves and wet grass lingered in the air. He closed his eyes and breathed in the pungent aroma, hoping it would help clear his mind and heart.

For the past twelve years, Jace dreaded this day. The one day of the whole year where he thought about her constantly. It didn't matter what he did, where he was, or who he was with, she still dominated his mind, his heart. This, the twenty-third day of September, would forever haunt him, forever plague him with thoughts and visions he'd rather not see.

With a deep breath, he turned around and walked to the dresser, pulling out his favorite hoodie and a pair of running shorts. After slipping off his pajama pants and putting on the new clothing, he exited into the hallway, hoping he didn't run into anyone on the way. He just needed to get out of there, run for awhile and clear his mind. If he tried to face anyone when his head was so screwed up he didn't know what he might say. The last thing he wanted was to lash out.

He'd been trying to act differently around his family, to finally try to let himself love and be loved. It wasn't an easy thing for him to do since before the Lightwoods, he'd known only temporary homes and people who couldn't care less whether he stayed or went. And at the time, he couldn't be bothered to care either. But the Lightwoods were different. Even from the beginning, they put up with his antics. None of them treated him like the damaged foster kid he was.

From the moment he stepped foot through their door when he was a twelve-year-old punk, Alec treated him like they were best friends. He shared his toys and games and introduced him to his friends. Isabelle talked back to him and didn't let him get away with the normal crap he was used to pulling over on everyone. Even when he was a total douche and deliberately messed with her friends, she was angry and hurt, but never acted as though he wasn't still her older brother—albeit an assey one. Max looked up to him with eyes that suggested he thought the sun rose and set with Jace. He followed him around like a little lost puppy, and Jace couldn't deny him anything. At only four years old, Max had managed to be the first person to ever capture Jace's heart. One he thought was hard and cold and unable to feel anything but anger and grief.

Maryse and Robert treated him like he was their own flesh and blood. They never distinguished him from their own children. Never made him feel like he didn't belong with them. Even when he did everything in his power to push them away, they still came back time and time again, begging for him to let them in. Although he wasn't proud of it, he fought against it. He tested the limits of their patience and love for him purposefully. He ran with a bad crowd, got into trouble, not only at school but also with the law. More than once Robert had had to come and get him at the police station, whether it was for vandalism or theft or just flat out being a punk-ass. The hurt and anger stayed inside of him, building and building every day. He couldn't seem to work it out without getting physical. Running, playing soccer, fighting, messing with girls. All were ways he tried to cope with what burned inside him.

The Lightwoods tried putting him in therapy, but he wasn't having any of that. When they'd take him, he'd sit the entire hour staring at the wall behind the therapists head, not speaking a single word. No one seemed to understand that it wasn't just that he didn't _want_ to talk about it, he _couldn't. _Not without the images flooding his mind and taking him back to the one place, the one moment, he didn't want to ever be again.

Lately, since opening himself up to Clary, the memories surfaced more often and became more vivid. He remembered details he never had before. Things such as the exact shade of blue of his mom's shirt, the sound the individual drops of rain made against the glass, how it felt when the shards pierced his skin, the smell of his blood as it flowed over his Scooby-Doo pajamas and dripped onto the beige carpet. Every single new piece just added to the horrifying picture swirling through his mind.

Jace made it to the front door unhindered. He heard Maryse and Robert in the kitchen, dishes clanking and murmured voices filtering out into the foyer. The shower ran upstairs and the sound of the television floated in from the living room.

He twisted the knob and stepped out onto the front porch, quietly closing the door behind him. Pulling his iPod out of his hoodie, he placed the earbuds in his ears and stuffed the player back into his pocket. He walked down the stairs and across the yard, his eyes trailing over the quiet streets and landing on Clary's front porch. Her mother sat on the two-seater swing, her gaze locked curiously on him. He reached back, pulled the hood over his head, and turned away, his feet pounding on the sidewalk as he put more distance between himself and the memories attacking his mind.

.o.O.o.

Clary chewed on her bottom lip as she glanced across the table at her mother. Her leg bounced with anxious abandon as she tried to figure out how to phrase what she needed to say. Jocelyn sat comfortably in her chair reading the morning paper and holding a bagel slathered with cream cheese in her other hand.

"Are you going to spit it out sometime today, Clary, or are you just going to nibble on your lip until you have none left?" She glanced up over the top of the paper, her eyes knowing and suspicious.

Clary let out a slow breath and wrung her hands under the table. "I—uh—I kinda want to talk to you."

Jocelyn slowly folded the paper in half and set it down next to her plate. She grabbed her coffee and took a sip before raising her brows in Clary's direction. "Well . . ."

Clary grimaced. "Okay, promise you won't freak out."

"Telling me not to freak out is a sure bet I probably will. What's going on?"

"Well," Clary chewed her lip even harder. "My birthday's coming up."

"Yes, I remember the day quite well. Twenty-seven hours of labor sticks pretty well in the mind."

"I wasn't saying you didn't—" She let out a slow breath and closed her eyes briefly before focusing on her mother once again. The words she wanted—no needed—to say stuck in her throat and no matter how hard she tried to force them out they just wouldn't come. It was time to hash this all out, to have the secrets disappear, but she didn't know how to do that. She wrung her hands one more time. "It's just that, I'm going to be sixteen next week and—um, I thought maybe, uh," she let out a gust of air and blurted it out, "I thought maybe we could discuss the prospect of me being able to date."

There she'd said it. She peeked up at her mother, praying Jocelyn didn't explode at the idea. This was just the first step and she knew it. If she ever wanted to be able to come out to her mother about her and Jace's relationship, she'd have to at least get her blessing to date first. Convincing Jocelyn to let her see Jace would be another matter all together. But this was a start.

"Date?" Jocelyn's brows rose and she set her coffee cup back down on the table.

Clary nodded, a bubble of anxiety growing in her chest.

"You want to go out with boys?" she asked as if she couldn't seem to grasp the concept.

"Yes, Mom. Most girls my age are dating and I'd like to be able to as well."

Jocelyn eyed her curiously. "Is there someone specific you'd like to see?" The question came out innocently enough, but Clary could see the warning in her mother's eyes. Oh, this wasn't going to go well, she could feel it.

Clary opened her mouth to respond when Simon's voice exploded into the kitchen.

"Good morning, Sunshine—and Mrs. Sunshine." He beamed.

Clary rolled her eyes, but Jocelyn grinned. "Good morning, Simon. What are you doing here before noon?"

Simon sighed and plopped down in the seat next to Clary. "I got suckered into going to the stupid game with Clary and Isabelle." He grabbed a bagel and proceeded to cover it with butter and cream cheese. He took a giant bite and poured himself a glass of orange juice. "Remind me never to agree to anything when a girl is wearing a bikini. That's just totally unfair."

Jocelyn frowned at Clary. Clary raised her hands. "Hey, it wasn't me. You know I don't wear a bikini." She turned to Simon. "The game's not until three. I told you that yesterday."

He paused and gave her a look. "I thought you said eleven."

"No. I specifically said three. Remember? I repeated it and wrote it on your wrist." She grabbed his arm and pointed to the barely there remnants of her reminder. "And it's only eight thirty now anyway."

"Huh," he said, and then shrugged, taking another bite of his bagel.

The shrill ring of the phone blared and Jocelyn jumped up from her seat to answer it.

Simon leaned over, his head ducked and brows lifted. "So, did you ask her?"

Clary rolled her eyes. "I was just trying to when you barged in. Don't you knock anymore?"

"Since when do I have to knock? I never have before." He raised his brows. "Is there some reason I should?"

Clary started to respond when Jocelyn hung up the phone and sighed. "What's wrong, Mom?"

Jocelyn rubbed her forehead distractedly. "What? Oh—nothing. That was Hodge in the city. There's a client interested in several pieces of my work."

"That's great, Mom!"

"Yeah," Simon chimed in."

Jocelyn gave them a small smile. "Yes, it is. But, they want me there tomorrow morning, which means I'll have to leave tonight."

"Oh," Clary said.

Jocelyn sighed. "I'm sorry, honey. Can we finish this conversation later? I need to go pack and then head to the shop to gather the pieces and set up someone to look after the store tomorrow."

Clary nodded though her disappointment probably showed on her face. "Sure."

"We _will_ talk about it, okay?"

"You'll keep an open mind? Please?"

"Don't I always?"

Clary smiled but remembered a very distinct moment where Jocelyn had been far from open.

"Do you think you could stay with Isabelle again tonight?"

Clary frowned. "Why? Don't you trust me here by myself?"

"Of course I do." Jocelyn reached across the table and patted Clary's hand. "I would just prefer you not to be alone for safety reasons."

"Well, I'm sure it would be fine, but Maryse and Robert were going out of town this afternoon. Something at Alec's college I guess."

"Oh," She paused. "Isabelle's staying home?"

Clary nodded. "Yeah, her and Jace. We're going to the game."

Jocelyn waved her hand in front of her head as if to say she remembered. "That's right. Well, I would still feel better if you weren't alone. It doesn't hurt to have a male there either."

Simon choked on his bagel. Clary reached over and hit his back harder than she probably needed to.

"What?" Jocelyn asked. "What am I missing?"

"Nothing," Clary said. "It's just—well, I didn't think you liked Jace, let alone trusted him to 'protect' me if something were to happen." She gave her mother a disbelieving lopsided grin.

"I never said I didn't like him. I hardly know the boy."

Clary raised her brows. "You had a pretty vocal opinion about him before."

"Yes, well," Jocelyn picked her purse up from the counter and bent to kiss Clary's head, "things change." She walked out of the room and started up the stairs.

Clary turned to Simon. "Did she—what did she just say?"

Simon's eyes were wide, but he just shrugged. "Don't ask me. I don't understand you women at all. Your back and forth is enough to scramble my brain for life. I'm surprised I can still frame a coherent thought."

Clary pushed her chair back, grabbed the jug of milk, and stowed it in the fridge. "You're an idiot."

"See," he pointed at her and turned away, "the affects of your constant, womanly, brain kung fu is already screwing with me."

Clary rolled her eyes. "I'm going outside. I need some air." She pointed to the bagels and condiments on the table. "Put that away when you're done."

Simon raised his hand to his forehead. "Aye Aye, Captain."

"Why do I like you again?"

"Because I'm awesome."

"Yeah, I don't think so," she said as she walked past, pushing him nearly out of his chair as she made her way to the front door.

She stepped out onto the porch, the scent of fall assaulting her as soon as she closed the door. Glancing around, she noticed a layer of leaves, their edges browning and curling in, lining the grass. She walked down the steps and kept going until she stood in the middle of the yard. Stooping down, she picked up a large, red, maple leaf and twirled it by the stem between her fingers.

Her thoughts strayed to the day last fall when she and Jonathan had raked all the leaves in the yard into a large pile and dive bombed them. It was childish and stupid, but it was fun. She could almost feel the scratchy texture of the foliage as Jonathan shoved a handful down the back of her shirt. Their laughter still rang out in her mind, filling her with a sense of happiness. Just a few months ago, any thought of him and the time they spent together would have only served to make her sad. But now, sometimes, she was able to think of him without feeling that empty pang. This was one of those times. A time when she could remember, and be glad for the chance to have known him at all, if only for a short amount of time.

She stood, and the sound of someone running drew her attention to the street in front of her. From the direction of the school, she watched as Jace jogged into his yard, pushed the hood off his head and bent over, his hands on his knees, breathing hard. A small grin pulled at her lips and she started toward him. He didn't hear her approach as he still had his headphones in. She reached over and tapped him on the shoulder. He whirled around, his eyes widened in surprise.

Reaching up, he pulled one of the earbuds out and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Clary used to tease Jonathan about how gross it was when he came home all sweaty. But the image of Jace in his half zipped hoodie, t-shirt clinging to him, and drops falling from his curls was a whole different picture. One she rather liked.

He bent over again and looked up at her. "Hey, Pippi." The words came out a bit breathless. "What are you doing out here?"

She shrugged. "Just came out to get some air." She gestured to him. "I guess I don't have to ask what you were doing."

He stood and grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "No, I think my reasons are pretty obvious." His eyes darted away from hers.

Clary frowned. Something was wrong, she could feel it. She reached out to touch his arm but he flinched away. Clary drew her hand back slowly. "Sorry," she mumbled.

He took in a deep breath and lowered his head, shrugging.

"Jace, are—"

"Yes. I'm fine," he said, his tone clipped.

"Are you sure?"

He sighed and looked up at the sky. When his gaze returned to hers, his eyes were hard and flat. "I think if anyone was going to be sure about how I am it would be me. So, yes, I'm sure. Now that we got that out of the way, is there anything else you'd like to know?"

Clary's mouth dropped open slightly and she took a step back. He'd never talked to her like that before. She felt a lump form in her throat and she swallowed hard against it. Unable to speak over the tightness, she shook her head.

He looked away. "Good."

She felt her eyes sting but didn't want to cry in front of him. She didn't know what was wrong but it was obvious whatever it was he didn't want to talk about it—at least with her. Backing up another step, she thrust her thumb over we shoulder. "I'm—uh, I'm just gonna—" Tears clouded her vision and she whipped around.

"Clary—wait . . ."

She froze but didn't turn around. Dried leaves and grass crunched under his feet as he stepped up behind her. She blinked rapidly, trying to force the tears away, but they fell over her cheeks anyway.

"I—hell. Can you—will you look at me, please?"

Clary reached up and swiped her hand over her face, clearing the moisture from her cheeks. Slowly she turned toward him, not meeting his eyes, but staring past him while biting her lip.

He reached forward and lifted her chin with two fingers. When her eyes met his, she saw the familiar warmth in them again. It barely showed, but it was there, buried beneath whatever plagued him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just—" He removed his fingers from her face and raised them to his damp hair, grasping a fistful and squeezing. "I'm having a bad morning and have been trying to avoid people for exactly that reason. It has nothing to do with you, okay?"

Clary bit her lip harder and nodded, dropping her gaze from his. She didn't know how to talk to him when he was like this. Their normal banter was obviously not appropriate. He didn't seem to want to talk about whatever it was bothering him, so what could she say?

He sighed and stepped closer, speaking softly, "Stop that," he pressed his thumb to her chin and gently pulled her lip from between her teeth, "you're going to bite straight through."

Stubbornly, she sucked it back into her mouth and started chewing again. He chuckled and cradled her face in his hands. Leaning down he touched her lips with his and leaned his forehead against hers. "I'm an ass. Forgive me?"

"Will you tell me what's wrong?"

He let out a breath. "Later, okay?"

She sighed and turned her head away. "Fine."

He tilted her face up until their eyes met once again. "I just don't want to think about it right now. I'm trying to push it aside and if I talk about it, I can't do that. I need to clear my mind before the game or else I'm going to be an enormous asshat on the field."

"As opposed to any other time?" She offered him a small, weak grin.

One corner of his mouth pulled up into a smile. "Yes, even worse than normal."

"That's pretty bad then."

His gaze dropped to her mouth and he leaned into her. "So, am I forgiven or not?"

Clary's heart sped in her chest. "I don't know. Would you forgive you?"

He shook his head, still closing the distance between them. "Not a chance. But we've already established that I'm a douche of the highest order. You," he ran his thumb over her mouth, "are a much better person than me."

"You're right, I am."

He grinned.

"All right. I'll forgive you. Just this once and under one condition."

He furrowed his brows. "Yeah? And what's that?"

"That you hurry up and kiss me, damn it."

His smile widened. "I don't think that'll be a problem."

Slowly, he lowered his lips to hers, pressing lightly against them before taking her bottom lip between his. Clary leaned into him and slung her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, not even caring about the sweat still running down his temple and falling to her.

.o.O.o.

The entire day sucked. From the moment he woke to right that second as he stood on field staring out at the opposing team. For once in his life, physical activity didn't seem to help. He'd tried running that morning, only to nearly bite Clary's head off when she asked how he was. He wasn't an idiot—although at the moment he doubted he was acting like anything but. He knew right away she'd noticed something was wrong. They were just that in tune with each other. He could always tell when she was upset, so it was no surprise that she could tell the same about him. Although, he still couldn't believe he'd actually flinched when she'd tried to touch him. What the hell was that all about? It had been so long since he'd reacted that way around her. Her touch didn't startle him like other people's, so why the reaction that morning?

He felt so on edge, like anything, even the smallest, most insignificant thing, could cause him to fall off. That douchebag Julian lucked out they weren't playing his team today. Jace really wanted to pound something and his ugly mug would've been the perfect target. Unfortunately—or fortunately as it were—this team seemed to have a douchebag all their own. Number Thirteen. A cocky midfielder bent on sticking to Jace's ass the entire game. He tried to play and not dwell on the fact that the guy continuously buried his elbow in Jace's ribs. Shielding was one thing but this guy was all over him.

The ref never called a single thing either. Jace was beginning to think he turned a blind eye in just his case. Finally, half way into the second half, Jace grew sick of the constant shoving and jabbing. He passed the ball off to Sebastian and turned quickly, his face right in Number Thirteen's.

"Is there some reason you seem intent to be stuck up my ass the entire game?"

Number Thirteen narrowed his eyes and held his stance even though Jace had at least three inches on him. "I'm shielding, dumbass."

"Oh yeah?" Jace leaned forward his nose nearly touching Thirteen's. "Well, legal shielding doesn't include this," he shoved his chest into Thirteen's hard, causing him to stagger back a few paces, "or this," stepping forward and turning to his side, he drew back his elbow and jabbed Thirteen in the side.

Thirteen stumbled back before narrowing his eyes and rushing forward, shoving Jace. The whistle blew just as Jace wrapped his hands in Thirteen's jersey and threw him to the ground. He dropped down onto him and drew his fist back, but before he could let it loose, he felt hands wrap around his wrist and drag him up. Arms went around his chest, holding his own to his side. A few of the opposing team members dragged Thirteen up and held him back. Jace struggled against the hold on him.

"Calm the hell down, Wayland," Sebastian said in his ear.

The ref blew the whistle frantically and stepped between the two boys, holding a red card in both their faces and cocking his thumb over his shoulder to the sidelines. "Both of you, out!"

The arms around Jace loosened and he shoved away from Sebastian. He narrowed his eyes at Thirteen and stalked off the field. When he reached the sideline, Coach grabbed him by the back of the jersey.

"What the hell's wrong with you today, Wayland?"

Jace furrowed his brow and pointed toward Thirteen who received the same reception from his coach. "He was all over me, pushing and shoving, elbowing me in the side!"

"Sit your ass down!" Coach released his jersey and shoved him toward the bench. "You'll be doing laps after the game."

Jace grabbed his water bottle, dumped it over his head, and then threw it before plopping down on the bench. Maybe if he'd gotten in a punch or two it would have helped with the anger. Though, even then he wasn't sure. He glanced toward the bleachers, finding Clary's red hair instantly. Concern masked her face as she stared down at him. He lowered his head and reached up, curling his arms around it and pulling at the hair near the nape of his neck. This day couldn't end soon enough.

.o.O.o.

By the time Jace finished his laps, cleaned the locker room per Coach's punishment instructions, and showered, it was dark and his entire body ached. At least by then the anger had subsided, leaving only the grief behind. Although, at that point, he couldn't be sure which was worse.

He made his way to his car, throwing his bag in the back and sliding into the seat. Closing the door, he gripped the steering wheel and leaned his forehead against it. He let out a slow breath and shut his eyes. The pressure in his chest moved up into his throat. He clenched his eyes tighter and slammed his fist against the dashboard. After taking in several deep breaths, he felt the pressure lessen slightly. Once he was sure he'd be okay to drive, he put his key in the ignition and started the car.

Before he knew it, he was pulling into the driveway. He couldn't even remember leaving the school parking lot. His eyes slid over the house, noticing only the porch light on. There was no movement or glow from the television in the living room. He knew Clary was supposed to be spending the night with Isabelle, but neither of them seemed to be on the lower level.

With a sigh, he gathered his bag from the back seat and walked up to the house, entering as silently as he could. Loud music reverberated through the house, letting him know the girls were upstairs doing God knows what in Isabelle's room. It was probably best. As much as he wanted to see Clary, he couldn't be sure he wouldn't act like an ass again.

Dropping his bag near the stairs, he walked back into the foyer. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of his piano. His fingers itched to play it, but anything that came from him then would definitely not be cheerful. Turning his head toward the stairs, he listened for any movement but only heard the booming bass.

Without really deciding to, his feet dragged him forward until he stood right next to the bench. He stepped around it and sat down. Reaching forward, he ran his finger along the polished black finish. It felt smooth and cool beneath his touch. A sliver of calm inched into his chest. He brought both of his hands up and set them carefully on the keys, feeling the familiar comfort start flowing through him. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and let all his pain and grief spill out of his fingers and mouth as music filled the room. Every emotion he had bottled up inside came crashing down on the ivory. He didn't know how it sounded to anyone else or if they would be able to pick up on how he felt, but at that point, he didn't care. He couldn't stand the pain, the sadness, the wishing things had been different, any longer. He just wanted it gone.

After a few minutes, he sensed he was no longer alone. Even so, he didn't stop playing, didn't stop the outflow of sadness, anger, and grief from tumbling off his tongue. Her presence radiated heat as she neared him, warming him and adding to the calming effect of the music. She didn't speak as her hands found their way to his shoulders. He closed his eyes as her nearness washed over him. Her hands moved down his arms and her lips touched the top of his head. He wanted to turn around, to hold her, kiss her, to drown himself in her, but he couldn't stop his fingers from moving across the keys.

She came even closer and moved her hands up to his hair, running her fingers through it and causing a chill to run through his body. Finally, he came to the end of the song, and bowed his head as he played the last note. It lingered in the air for several seconds before silence enveloped them both. Clary's hands moved from his hair, and she came around the bench and sat next to him, not saying a word. After what seemed like forever, Jace glanced up. She peered back at him, her brows pulled together in concern and her lip trapped between her teeth. His gaze moved from one of her eyes to the other, emotion swelling inside him, but not knowing what to say or how to say it. So, finally, he revealed the only truth he knew in that moment, not caring how desperate or vulnerable it might sound.

"I need you."

She sucked in a breath and her eyes widened slightly before she pulled herself together, smiled, and nodded. "Okay." Standing from her position on the bench, she held out her hand. "Come on."

Jace looked up at her, hesitating for just a moment before reaching up to take it. Silently, she led him up the stairs. When she reached his room, she opened the door and pulled him inside. She ignored the light and walked straight to the bed, crawled onto it, and lay down. He followed her lead and climbed up after her, settling himself beside her. She scooted forward, buried her face in his chest, and wrapped her arms around his waist. He tucked one of his under her head and draped the other over her side, pulling her tight against him and cocooning his body around her. Neither of them said a word as they lay there in the quiet dark. Words wouldn't fix what was broken inside of him. He knew this and realized she probably did too. She was giving him exactly what he needed whether she knew it or not. Leaning down, he brushed his lips against the top of her head and whispered into her hair, "Thank you."

She didn't respond, just hugged him tighter. Jace closed his eyes, breathing in her scent and feeling her warmth. And within moments, he was asleep.

.o.O.o.

_His father reached out and grabbed him. Jace yelped in pain as the sudden movement stretched the wounds on his chest. His father's brows furrowed and he looked down, his face contorting as his eyes settled on Jace's chest. His hand came down, but before he could touch him, several sets of pounding footsteps burst into the room. Jace's father jerked away from him as men's voices shouted._

_ At that moment, Jace's eyes strayed to the floor and widened at what he say. His mother lay several feet away, her hand stretched over her head in his direction and her dark hair splayed across her face. A black stain spread across her chest and pooled on the ground under her._

_ "Mama!" Jace called out and lurched forward, ignoring the pain in his own body._

_ A set of strong, unfamiliar hands grabbed his arms and held him back. He peered up into the strange man's face, noticing his dad lying on the ground behind him, another man's knee in his back and holding his wrists together._

_ Jace struggled against the man's grip trying to get to his mother. He knew something was wrong and he didn't like the look of that stain on her chest. It looked the same as the one on his and he hurt._

_ "Call CPS," he heard one of the men in blue say, "we've got a kid here."_

_ Several men and women rushed in and surrounded his mother; another knelt in front of Jace. _

_ "What's your name?" the woman asked. She had kind eyes. Blue._

_ He looked at her through the tears nearly blinding him. "Jace."_

_ She smiled at him. "Okay, Jace. My name is Nora and I'm going to take care of you, okay?"_

_ He nodded and stretched his neck to see what they were doing to his mother._

_ "How about we go outside? I have a great big truck with twirly lights. Do you want to see it?"_

_ Jace shook his head violently. "I don't want to leave Mama. She's hurt."_

_ The woman's face turned sad. "I know." She sighed. "Let's look at you, okay?"_

_ He nodded again and Nora took a small pair of scissors out of her little black bag and cut a line down the front of his Scooby Doo pajamas. _

_ "Does it hurt, Jace?"_

_ He nodded._

_ "A lot?"_

_ He nodded again._

_ "Did the glass cut you?"_

_ "Yes. The glass from the window." He turned and pointed to the gaping hole where the window used to be._

_ "Okay, sweetie. I'm going to put a big white bandaid on you, but we're going to have to stitch you up at the hospital." She pulled several white rolls, some tape, a bottle of medicine looking stuff, and some cotton balls from her bag. "Do you know what that is?"_

_ "It's where the doctor lives and you go there when you get sick." _

_ Nora smiled and nodded, dabbing a cold, stinging cotton ball over his chest. "That's exactly right." She proceeded to cover his chest with the white rolls and taped it to his skin. When she finished, she stepped to the side, revealing a large woman carrying a clipboard. "This is Marge. She's your friend and she's going to watch you while we go to the hospital."_

_ Jace eyed the woman called Marge and frowned. "I don't like her. She looks mean. I want to stay with Mama." He inched forward slightly toward where the group was huddled around his mother. His eyes trailed over the scene as a few of the people rose and moved away. Another stepped forward with a big white sheet._

_ "What are they doing? Is Mama asleep?"_

_ Nora brushed her hand over his cheek, much like how his mother had earlier. "No. She's not."_

_ "Then why are they putting her to bed?"_

_ The man stood over her and dropped the sheet over her feet, pulling it up and letting it fall over her face._

_ "Jace." Marge knelt down in front of him, blocking his view._

_ He glanced at her momentarily and then looked around her at where his mother lay much too still. She reached out and took his chin in her hand, not hard but not soft either. "Jace."_

_ He pulled his chin out of her hand and glared at her._

_ "We need to go. You need to have the doctors look at your cuts."_

_ He crossed his arms over his chest even though it hurt. "I don't want to go with you. I want to stay with Mama."_

_ Marge opened her mouth to speak when one of the other people who were dressed like Nora came up to them with a small jacket. "This is for the boy. We wouldn't want his cuts getting infected or for him to get too cold."_

_ Marge went to grab it but Nora took it instead. "Let me do it. He seems to . . . trust me more."_

_ Marge stood and stepped back, her hands in the air. Nora slipped the jacket over Jace's arms and zipped it carefully. "Now, I know you don't want to go, but you really need to go visit the doctor."_

_ "Are you coming?"_

_ She smiled sadly and patted the curls on top of his head. "No, I have to stay here with your mama."_

_ Marge sighed and stepped in between them, grabbing Jace by the arm._

_ "Let go! I don't want to go with you." He jerked back but she held firm to him._

_ She didn't speak to him again and continued to drag him toward the door. Jace struggled against her hold and planted his feet on the carpet. But no matter what he did, he just slid closer and closer to the door. He whipped back around, his eyes gliding over his mother once more. "Mama! Mama!" He pulled against Marge's hold again, but she held his jacket tight. He clawed at the front trying to find the zipper, but before he could get it all the way down, Marge reached down and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him further and further from the house._

_ "Let go!" he shouted. "Let go!"_

"Let go!" Jace sprang up in bed, his breathing shallow and fast. Sweat covered his body and he trembled violently. Something tickled his chest and he looked down seeing the pieces of his shirt hanging off to the side, a giant tear down the middle.

Movement from behind caught his attention and he whipped around. Clary sat at the head of his bed, her eyes wide and fear etched across her face. Her gaze traveled down to his torn shirt and stayed there. He glanced down, seeing immediately what she saw. All his scars, the small and large, scattered over his chest and abdomen, shining white in the moonlight. Looking up, he met her eyes.

The bed moved as she cautiously made her way to him. He still shook in the aftermath of his dream, but it had lessened.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice quiet and trembling slightly.

He swallowed and nodded.

"What were you dreaming about?"

He closed his eyes and blew out a slow breath. "My mother." He looked up. "About the night she died." He met her stare and then flicked it to the calendar. "Today."

Reaching up, he splayed his hand across his chest, his fingers tracing the smattering of small scars. He grimaced and went to stand.

Clary grabbed his arm. "Where are you going?"

"To cover this up. I know it's ugly."

Her eyes softened and she pulled him back down to the bed. When he settled on the mattress, she let go of him and reached up, carefully slipping her fingers under the torn pieces of his shirt, pushing them off his shoulders and down his arms. Jace watched as it fell from him and fluttered to the floor. He swallowed hard and looked up slowly, meeting her eyes.

She lifted her hand, pausing a few inches from him. "Can I?"

He nodded, hesitantly.

Clary gently pressed her hand against the bared skin of his chest. He closed his eyes at the sensation. Warmth spread from the point where she touched and traveled throughout his body. When he opened his eyes again, he found her staring right at him. Nothing in her gaze suggested disgust or pity. She looked at him the same way she always did.

She shook her head and spoke quietly. "It's not ugly. Nothing about you is ugly." Her thumb brushed softly over the scars under her hand. She leaned forward, brushing her soft lips against his disfigured chest.

Jace's breath caught and goosebumps erupted over his skin. He raised his hands to her neck, his fingers slipping under her hair, and bent down until his forehead rested against her.

After a moment, she lifted her head and gazed at him. "You're beautiful. Every part of you. No amount of scars will ever change that." In her eyes, he saw that she told him the truth—at least how she saw it.

He moved his hands forward until they cupped her cheeks, her skin warm and smooth under his fingers. Again, no words were needed. He tipped his chin, catching her lips in a kiss so soft it was barely there. Her hands trailed up his side and around. When she reached his shoulder blades, she splayed her fingers across the expanse of his back, her touch gentle and careful.

Jace dropped one of his hands, letting his fingers slide along the length of her neck and across her nearly bare shoulder. She shivered under his touch. He followed her arm all the way down to her elbow, feeling bumps rise on her flesh. Clary's fingers dug into his shoulders as she deepened her kiss and he wrapped his arm around her waist, lifting her from the bed and pulling her flush against him. Her legs tucked around his waist and he rose to his knees, clutching her tightly to him. Leaning forward, he supported them both with one arm before lying her down on her back. She pulled against him, and he obliged, settling his body on top of hers but bearing much of his weight with his elbows.

Her hands traveled the length of his back, skin against skin, and not once did he flinch or tremble. None of the anxiety that normally accompanied being touched plagued him tonight. All he felt was her. Her hands touching him, her body underneath him, her affection encompassing him. Every memory moved to the back of his mind as he let her show him her truth. To her, he wasn't damaged or broken. He was just Jace. Nothing more and nothing less. Exactly what he wanted to be.

Her hands moved over his shoulders and up to his cheeks, her fingers tracing the lines of his face, traveling down to feather along the planes of his chest, and dancing across every raised line on his skin. Normally he'd feel disgrace, for the way he looked and for the life he'd lived to that point. All the things those marks stood for, what they meant about the types of things he'd done and the things that had been done to him. They showed he was weak, he was vulnerable. But with her, he didn't need to feel shame. Because in her eyes, he _was_ beautiful, he _was_ strong, he _was_ good, regardless of what ugliness hid beneath.

After a few moments, he removed his lips from hers and dropped his face, tucking it into the crook of her neck as she threaded her fingers through the hair at the back of his head. He moved his hand and pressed it lightly against her upper chest, feeling the steady beat of her heart against his palm. Her fingers trailed up his arm and when she reached his hand, she laid hers on top, connecting them together. Jace closed his eyes and breathed her in, allowing her essence to cover the pain and uncertainty swirling inside him. And finally, for the first time ever on the anniversary of the one night he could never seem to forget, surrounded by darkness and quiet and the girl next door, he felt peace. Sweet, untainted, peace.

* * *

_Okay, that's it for today. Gotta get to writing! Hopefully we can finish this up tomorrow. :)_


	23. False Sense of Security

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

* * *

_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

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_**Chapter 23: False Sense of Security**_

Chapter songs:

_I Swear This Time I Mean It – Mayday Parade __*Lyrics to I Swear This Time I Mean It are owned by Mayday Parade_

_Karma Chameleon – Culture Club __**Lyrics to Karma Chameleon are owned by The Culture Club_

_Walk Like an Egyptian – The Bangles __***Lyrics to Walk Like an Egyptian are owned by The Bangles_

_Angels on the Moon – Thriving Ivory_

_**The poem If You Forget Me belongs to Pablo Nerudo._

* * *

Clary felt so warm. Not in an uncomfortable kick-back-the-sheets-and-sprawl-across-the-bed-to- try-and-keep-cool sort of warm, but a relaxed, pleasing curl-up-and-snuggle-into-it kind. She was still half asleep and part of her didn't want to open her eyes and fully wake. But something outside of herself kept lulling her toward consciousness. A light touch feathered through her hair and soft, nearly silent lyrics floated through the air surrounding her.

_*Oh Florida, please be still tonight, don't disturb this love of mine. _

_Look how she's so serene. You've gotta help me out. _

_And count the stars to form the lines. _

_And find the words we'll sing in time. _

_I want to keep her dreaming. It's my one wish, I won't forget this._

Clary smiled and opened her eyes, her surroundings coming into clear focus. She lay on her side, her face nestled against Jace's chest. One of her hands splayed across his abdomen and the other tucked between them. Her head lay on his arm which wrapped around and held her tight to him. His fingers pulled lazy lines through the curls just above her ear and vibrations from his quiet singing rumbled beneath her.

_So I'll sing a melody _

_And hope to God she's listening _

_Sleeping softly while I sing.  
And I'll be your memories _

_Your lullaby for all the time, _

_Hoping that my voice could get it right._

She held perfectly still, at war with herself because on one hand she wanted to tighten her grip and hold him closer, but on the other, she wanted nothing more than to lie there and continue listening to him. Hearing him make music in any capacity had become one of her favorite things, not only because he was so good, but also because he put so much of his soul into it every time. She loved being able to witness that part of him.

_If luck is on my side tonight_

_My clumsy tongue will make it right. _

_And wrists that touch, it isn't much, but it's enough. _

_To form imaginary lines _

_Forget your scars, we'll forget mine. _

_The hours change so fast, oh God, please make this last._

She thought back to the night before and to how much pain had been in his face. How exposed he'd been before her. Some people considered vulnerability a weakness, but to her, it was probably the bravest thing she had ever seen. To be able to bare himself so completely, to show her his scars—both the ones on the inside and the outside—took more courage than she thought she could have mustered herself.

Clary closed her eyes once more and just let herself feel. The warmth of his skin against hers, the feel of his voice moving through his body, and the sound of the words reverberating through the room. After a few moments, Jace tightened his hold on her, buried his face in her hair, and—if possible—sang even quieter, his voice almost a whisper.

_You could crush me. _

_Please don't crush me. _

_'Cause baby I'm a dreamer for sure _

_And I won't let you down. _

_I swear this time I mean it._

Clary's breath caught in her throat and Jace stopped singing.

"How long have you been up?" he asked. "Did I wake you?"

She shook her head. "Not too long."

"Sorry." He leaned down and brushed his lips on the top of her head.

She snuggled herself in closer, tightening her hold on him. "I'm not. I love hearing you sing."

He chuckled and hugged her to his side. "I know you do."

Clary moved her hand slowly from his stomach up to his sternum, tentatively allowing her fingers to ghost over the raised lines scattered over his skin. Small scars dotted the expanse of his chest, some looked shallow and others particularly deep. A couple of others—one stretching from his breastbone to his side, and another a few inches below his collarbone—were larger and darker. She ran her thumb along the one extending over his ribs.

"How did this happen?" she asked quietly.

He raised his hand and placed it on top of hers. "That one was my own fault. I got caught up with the wrong people back in the city. They liked playing with knives."

Clary gasped and propped herself up on one elbow, her eyes meeting his. "You were stabbed?"

He grinned. "Cut is more accurate." He shrugged. "I picked the wrong moment to mouth off."

"Is there ever a right moment?"

"For me? Every moment is the right moment."

Clary rolled her eyes and shook her head, lowering her gaze and moving her hand up to the one under his clavicle. "What about this?"

"Angry foster-father." He didn't elaborate and his eyes conveyed he didn't want to. Clary didn't want to push him to tell her more than he was ready to, so she let it go.

She moved down to the center of his chest and laid her palm flat against him, her fingers spread. "And these?" she whispered.

He took in and released a deep breath. "Those are from the night my mother died."

Clary looked up and met his eyes, the pain and vulnerability from the night before shone through once more. She bent down and touched her lips gently to his. Closing her eyes, she whispered, "Will you tell me about it?"

Jace raised his hands to cup her face, their foreheads touching. He let out a shaky breath and nodded. "Okay."

.o.O.o.

Clary sat at the Lightwood's kitchen table, her eyes fixed on the back wall and her cereal getting soggy in front of her. The images of all the things Jace told her moved through her mind, overtaking her own painful memories. To think he'd had to endure all of that at such a young age. Hearing his mother die right in front of him and watching his father arrested for her murder was more than any child should have to suffer. Then, the sickening array of homes he'd been placed in afterward—Clary had never felt so disgusted about anything in her life. She'd heard of the injustices thrust on young children before, but never had she actually seen the results. Seen how horribly it affected them so much later in life. And if she were honest, she'd never really taken much time to think about it at all, which in turn made her not only sickened by the actions of others, but for her complacency in a world where things like that happened.

Clary lifted the spoon to her mouth, only to drop it back into the bowl, her appetite gone. Pushing her chair back, she stood and walked over to the sink, dumping the rest of her cereal down the garbage disposal. She placed her hands on the edge of the sink and bowed her head, feeling her throat tighten and her eyes begin to sting. Nothing could ever take away the past Jace had been forced to endure, but if she had anything to say about it, his future would be filled with nothing but good memories. She knew nothing she did could cover the things that had already happened, but if she could help fill his life with at least some goodness, maybe the sting of the awfulness would fade with time.

"There you are." Isabelle's voice came from behind her.

Clary whipped around, sucking in a sharp breath and blinking rapidly to ward off the tears forming in her eyes. "Hey, Izzy. You scared me."

Isabelle narrowed her eyes and moved forward cautiously. "Are you crying?"

Clary shook her head and waved Isabelle off. "No. I'm fine."

"You're lying. Yes you are." She came closer. "What the hell did my ass of a brother do to you?"

Clary couldn't hold back the tears any longer and they rolled over her cheeks. "Nothing. He didn't do anything to me. _I'm_ fine."

Realization dawned in Isabelle's eyes. "Is he okay? Where is he?"

"He went running." Clary wiped the tears from her cheeks. "And he's as okay as he can be, I guess."

Isabelle grabbed Clary's hand and led her back to the table, guiding her into a chair before taking one herself. Her large, concerned eyes bored right into Clary. "What happened last night? I waited up for you but fell asleep after a while."

Clary bit the inside of her mouth, unable to meet Isabelle's eyes. "Sorry. He, uh, he needed me so I—I stayed." She stared at the floor.

"You stayed? Like—all night?"

Clary nodded and peeked up under her lashes. Isabelle's expression was fixed in surprise.

"You slept with my brother." It was a statement, not a question.

Clary finally looked up. "In the very literal sense, yes." She squirmed in her seat. "Just sleep, nothing else. I swear." Her face heated.

Isabelle grinned and looked away.

"What?"

Isabelle met her gaze, still smiling. "For not doing anything but sleeping you sure do look guilty."

Clary rolled her eyes and lowered her forehead to the table. "Shut up. I'm not guilty, I feel weird."

"Why? Is being with my brother grossing you out like it does me?"

"No." Clary looked up. "I love being with him. It's this," she gestured between herself and Isabelle, "this dynamic between us. I don't want that to get uncomfortable. I mean, most girls can talk to their best friends about their boyfriends, but it's strange because he's your brother, and well, I don't know when it might get to be TMI for you."

Isabelle stared, her eyes wide.

"What?" Clary furrowed her brows.

"Did you just call me your best friend?"

"Well, yeah. Duh. You and Simon are my best friends."

Isabelle launched herself forward and thrust her arms around Clary's neck. "Thank you!"

"For what?" Clary untangled herself from Isabelle's grip.

"For saying that. For thinking that." Isabelle sat back in her chair. "For liking me for more than just my brother."

"I would never do that, Izzy. Besides, I knew you first."

"Yeah, but it's happened before . . ."

"Well, I'm not like those other girls," Clary said. "You should know that by now."

Isabelle smiled and nodded. "I know. And just so we're clear, you can tell me anything you want. I'm your friend and I think it would totally suck if I felt like I couldn't talk about my boyfriend with my friends. Just as long as you don't tell me about any birthmarks or freckles that may not be public knowledge, I'm good."

Clary laughed. "I think I can handle that."

The front door slammed, causing Clary to jump in her seat. Isabelle lifted her chin and shouted, "Jace!"

Heavy footsteps thudded through the foyer and into the kitchen. Jace poked his head around the corner, sweat dripping from his brow. "Hell, Isabelle, do you have to shriek so loud? I heard that even with my headphones still in. What do you want?"

She shrugged. "Nothing. Just wanted your girlfriend to see you looking all disgusting. You know, so she wouldn't always have that picture perfect view of you in her mind." She smiled, showing off bright white teeth.

"For your information," he stepped fully into the kitchen, "she's already seen me like this—yesterday, in fact."

"It's true," Clary said, flashing him a grin. "I think it's kinda hot."

Jace's eyes moved to Isabelle as he bit his lip and smirked, quirking his brows.

"Ugh. You guys are sick." She turned to Clary. "You actually like that?"

"What?" Clary asked, raising her brows innocently then returning her gaze to Jace. "What's not to like?" She stood and walked over to him, laying her hand on his damp chest and rising on tip-toes to chastely kiss his waiting lips.

"Oh, God. Seriously. I'm gonna puke."

Jace looked down at her with amusement. "Spilling the truth of our sordid affair to my sister has really made you quite bold—and mildly gross, considering you like this." He spread his arms wide and gestured to his sweaty body.

Clary allowed her eyes to wander over his form, taking in the damp clothing clinging to him in all the right places. She bit her lip. "It has its advantages."

He grinned. "My, my, Pippi. If I didn't know better, I'd think your mind just went straight into the gutter."

She reached up and twisted her hand into the front of his shirt, pulling him down to her. "Maybe you're right."

Just before their mouths touched, Isabelle cleared her throat. "You know, he has a perfectly good bedroom upstairs where you can do whatever you want without making me want to gouge my eyes out." She picked at the piece of toast in her hand.

Clary laughed and released Jace's shirt. "I was just screwing with you, Izzy. I really can restrain myself, you know."

She huffed and glanced over with one raised brow. "Not from what I've seen. Since I found out you two had a thing, you've sucked faces in the piano room, made out in the hall at school, and then just now you practically ripped his clothes off in front of me."

"She's right, Pippi." Jace leaned against the counter and grabbed a green apple from the fruit bowl. "I know I'm irresistible and all, but hell, learn to control yourself a little." He winked, his mouth pulling up into a half grin, and took a bite.

Clary thrust her hands onto her hips. "Okay, first of all," she glared at Jace, "_you_ were the one who kissed _me_ in the piano room. Second of all, that display in the hall at school was to get Kaelie off _your_ back. And third—well, I really was screwing around just now."

"Which time in the piano room?" he asked, his smirk widening. Clary's face heated at the mention of the _other_ time.

"What? You mean there was more than one piano room face suckage? Was I here?" Isabelle asked before shaking her head and waving her hand in front of her face. "Wait. Wait. I had a short brain lapse there for a moment and forgot I really don't want to know. Forget I asked."

Jace chuckled and lowered his hands to Clary's waist. "In an effort to keep the peace with Isabelle, I'm going to go clean up and leave you two to—whatever it is you do together." He leaned down and whispered in her ear. "See? As much as I don't want to, I can share too."

Clary grabbed his hand as he started to move away. "Wait." He glanced back at her, his brows pinched together. She leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Are you all right?"

A small grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Yes. I'm fine."

"You promise?" Clary couldn't help but worry given his reaction the night before.

Jace entwined his fingers with hers. "Promise." He bent down and kissed her, his lips tasting faintly of apple. "Now go entertain my sister before she starts whining about unfair time privileges."

"I heard that," Isabelle said, her nose buried in a magazine.

"Okay." Clary pulled him down to her once more not getting nearly enough of his kiss before. When he tried to draw away, she tightened her grip on his hand and pouted against his mouth.

"As much as I'd like to continue this, possibly all day, I'd prefer to do it when I didn't smell like a locker room and when my sister wasn't sitting three feet away," he mumbled into her lips.

"Heard that too," Isabelle said.

Clary sighed and stepped back. "Yeah. Okay."

Jace grinned and turned around calling, "Later, Dizzy Izzy," over his shoulder.

Isabelle's head shot up. "I told you not to call me that, assclown!"

His laughter followed him up the stairs.

Clary sauntered back to the table and sat in the chair next to Isabelle. "Dizzy Izzy?" She couldn't help the curiosity coursing through her at the origin of the nickname.

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "Jace and his damn stupid nicknames." She looked up and met Clary's eyes. "One time, just after he moved in with us, we were playing at the city park, and he and Alec thought it would be hilarious to spin me as fast as they could on the merry-go-round. Suffice it to say, I got so dizzy that once it stopped, I staggered all over until I fell, hit my head on the cement, and puked all over the place. Ever since then, he and Alec have called me Dizzy Izzy. They think they're so amusing."

"That's terrible," Clary said, a smile threatening to break through.

"Yeah, well, no one gets away without being nicknamed by Jace." She glanced up. "He gave you one, right? Peppy, or something?"

Clary grabbed a piece of toast off Isabelle's plate and took a bite, swallowing before she answered. "Pippi."

"What the hell's a Pippi?"

Clary snorted, coughing after nearly inhaling the bite of toast she'd just taken. Isabelle smacked her back. "Pippi is a person." She cleared her throat and grinned. "You know, Pippi Longstockings?"

Isabelle gave her a blank look.

"You don't know who Pippi Longstockings is?"

She shook her head.

"Oh, well, it doesn't really matter." Clary went back to eating her toast.

"Nuh uh." Isabelle set her magazine down and leaned forward on her elbows. "I told you the reason behind my stupid nickname, now you tell me yours."

Clary rolled her eyes. "Fine." She threw the toast back down on the plate and brushed the crumbs off her hands. "Pippi Longstockings is just this annoying girl with red hair. On like, the second day you lived here, I came over to see you but only Jace was home. I happened to have put my hair in those double braids I wear sometimes—which is exactly how Pippi Longstockings wears hers. So, that's it, he started calling me Pippi."

"That's actually," Isabelle paused, "kinda cute."

Clary laughed just as Jace walked back into the room, freshly showered and dressed in dark jeans and a black t-shirt. "What's cute? Me? I thought we'd already gone over the undeniability of my hotness."

"You know, we do have better, more important things to talk about besides you, Jace," Isabelle said. "And how the hell do you shower and dress so fast?"

"Oh, I doubt that." He grabbed a bowl and poured himself some cereal, then sat down beside Clary. "And, I'm extremely talented, that's how."

"We were talking about your annoying habit of giving everyone you meet a nickname."

Jace turned to Clary, his brows raised. "Did she tell you the origin of Dizzy Izzy?"

Clary grinned and nodded.

He tilted his head back and laughed. "God, that was classic."

"It was not funny at all." Isabelle fumed. "I ruined my brand new shoes because of you."

Jace shrugged. "You should've just said it."

Isabelle narrowed her eyes. "There was no way I was going to say it and you guys knew it."

"That's not my fault," he said, taking another bite of cereal and looking all kinds of innocent and adorable. "We would've stopped if you'd said it."

Clary's gaze drifted between them, having no idea what they were talking about, but enjoying the sibling banter. She'd almost forgotten what it was like. Even though she still missed Jonathan every day, being around Jace and Isabelle and watching their interaction sort of helped fill the void of Jonathan's absence. It felt good. It felt normal.

"What was she supposed to say?" Clary asked, more than a little curious at that point.

Isabelle crossed her arms over her chest and looked away. "Ask your boyfriend."

Clary turned to Jace, her brows raised.

He grimaced slightly and put his spoon down. "Okay, well, remember, I was twelve and kind of a little douche."

"Kind of?" Isabelle scoffed and turned back to them. "You were such a jerk." She turned her gaze to Clary. "He and Alec thought it would be hilarious if I stood on top of the jungle gym and shouted that I was in actuality a genetically altered gorilla and that they were my masters and had instructed me to perform whatever act anyone wanted to see."

Clary snorted and hurried to cover her mouth with her hand. Jace laughed beside her and Isabelle gave her an incredulous look.

"Seriously? You think that's funny?" Isabelle asked.

Clary pressed her lips together hard in order to stop any more giggles from escaping and shook her head. "No—well, kinda, but only because it sounds like something Jonathan would have done."

Isabelle's angry expression faded from her face at the mention of Clary's brother. Her gaze shifted to Jace and Clary's followed. He eyed Clary carefully and offered her a small smile. It wasn't one of pity or sadness, but more like one of understanding and if she weren't mistaken, pride. He looked proud of her. She grinned back.

"Well, whatever," Isabelle added, sinking back into her chair. "So, what are you guys doing today?"

Jace shrugged and started back in on his cereal.

Clary sighed. "My mom got Luke to run her store for her today in exchange for me going over to his bookstore and unpacking some inventory." She rolled her eyes. "Fun."

"Do you need help?" Isabelle asked.

"You wanna? I mean, Simon's already coming—he was there when my mom talked to Luke and apparently she volunteered us both."

"Sure," Isabelle said, rising from the table. "Jace, you're not doing anything, you should help too."

He looked up and scowled. "Like I want to be stuck in a dusty book store with you and the gamer dork all day."

"But I'll be there," Clary said and leaned forward, whispering in his ear. "And there's a back room, you know."

He raised his brows and stood, pushing back his chair with a loud scrape against the tile. "Well, if you put it that way . . ." he said.

Isabelle raised her palm. "I don't even want to know what you bribed him with."

Clary laughed and stood. "I'm gonna go home and get ready. Meet you both in a little while?"

Jace leaned over. "See you in the back room, Pippi," he breathed.

A shudder ripped through her, and he grinned before straightening up and leaving the room. Clary slumped against the table, one hand flat on the top while trying to catch her breath. How he still managed to do that was beyond her.

"Damn, girl." Isabelle wrapped her arm around Clary's waist and chuckled.

Clary threw her arm over Isabelle's shoulder and bumped her with her hip before smiling. "Shut up."

.o.O.o.

An hour later, Jace stood outside, leaning against his car waiting for Clary and Isabelle to make an appearance. It was a little past noon and the sun sat high above. Though, it may as well have been cloudy since no warmth seemed to emanate from it at all.

The crunch of leaves under shoes drew his attention to an approaching figure. Simon crossed Clary's yard and neared Jace with a frown. Jace returned Simon's look with a glare. Simon's eyes widened slightly and he slowed his advance. Jace smiled inside at his ability to intimidate gamer nerds with too much time on their hands with just a look.

When he got close enough, Simon stopped, shoved his hands in his pockets, and stared at the ground. "So, they roped you into going too?"

"Nah." Jace shifted his feet. "Clary promised some back room action. How could I refuse?" He grinned.

Simon's head snapped up. He narrowed his eyes, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. "You're an ass."

"Thank you. Your compliments are much appreciated, nerd boy."

"Why she likes you I'll never understand."

"Likewise."

Before either of them could say another word, the slamming of a screen door drew their attention to Clary's porch where both she and Isabelle were coming down, laughing at something. As she drew near, Jace groaned.

"What?" she asked.

Jace raised a hand and gestured to her head. "The braids. Did you have to wear the braids when we're going to be stuck with these two all day?" He thrust his thumb over his shoulder toward where Isabelle and Simon were conversing. "Are you trying to torture me?"

Clary giggled. "Maybe."

He rolled his eyes and stepped back, walking around the car to the passenger side and opening her door for her. As she passed he whispered, "You know, two can play at your little teasing game."

She met his gaze and smirked. "Bring it on then, Goldie."

"Just get in, Pippi."

She giggled again and pecked him lightly on the lips. After she climbed in, he closed the door and jogged to his own side, shaking his head and trying to force back a grin.

Luke's bookstore was located several blocks away, nestled between Jocelyn's art supply shop and an old hardware store. Jace pulled around back where "employees" parked and the four of them poured out. Clary led them to a bright purple painted door. She pushed it open, a bell tinkling over their heads.

"Don't they normally only have those bell things over the front door?" Isabelle asked.

Clary closed the door after they all entered what looked like a store room. "Yeah, but Mom works alone a lot and doesn't want to be caught unaware of someone being in the store."

"Clary? Is that you?" A gruff male voice sounded from the front of the room.

"Yeah, Luke. It's me."

Luke stepped into Jace's line of vision. He had slightly stocky build, a ruddy complexion, and a pair of glasses that kept sliding down his nose. "Oh, good. You brought friends."

"Yep." Clary grinned and stepped forward. "I figured if I had to suffer in the dust all day, I could at least not do it alone."

Luke grinned and gestured them forward. "Well, come on then."

He led them through a door and short hallway on the left side of the room. Opening another door, the group filed into a dusty space piled high with boxes and stacks of books, and lined with bookshelves. The whole store smelled of old paper and ink. Jace didn't necessarily like libraries but the scent was comfortable in its own way.

"Okay," Luke said, gesturing to a stack of boxes piled up near the entrance to the front room. "These three need to be cataloged into the inventory logs and then filed on the shelves out in the main room. But these," he pointed to three more that sat near a cluttered desk, "need to be catalogued and placed on these shelves back here. They're the older, rarer volumes that I don't care to have just anyone pawing through."

Clary nodded and rummaged through her pocket, pulling out an iPod. "Is it okay if we listen to music?"

Luke shrugged. "Fine with me." A faint tinkling wafted through the open doors connecting Luke's store to Jocelyn's. "Oh, I better go. Come get me if you need anything or have any questions."

"Sure thing, Luke."

Luke disappeared into the hall, closing the door behind him. Clary exited into the main room. She placed her iPod on a dock situated near the cash register and turned up the volume. Strains from an old 80's pop song filled the quiet space.

"Oh my God!" Isabelle squealed and started dancing and belting the lyrics. ** "_I'm a man without conviction. I'm a man who doesn't know. How to sell a contradiction. You come and go. You come and go."_

Clary laughed and danced over to Isabelle, grabbing her hand and twirling her around before they both sang, _"Karma, karma, karma, karma, karma chameleon. You come and go. You come and go."_

Simon groaned. "Boy George? Seriously?"

Both girls surrounded him, grabbing his hands and making him move with them. _"Every day is like survival. You're my lover not my rival. Every day is like survival. You're my lover not my rival."_

Simon jerked out of their grasps and plopped down on the floor, his arms crossed over his chest, a pout on his face. Clary turned to Jace, her brows raised. He held up his hands. "Oh no, I don't care what you bribe me with. There's no way I'm dancing to Boy George."

Clary stuck her bottom lip out, causing him to bite his in an effort to hold back a smile. "Fine," she said. "How about this?" She walked over to the iPod and scrolled through the songs, hitting play when she found the one she wanted.

Turning around, she had a mischievous look on her face. *** "_All the old paintings on the tombs they do the sand dance don'tcha know. If they move too quick (oh way oh) they're falling down like a domino." _She lifted her right hand and held it in front of her, and placed her left behind her back in standard Egyptian style.

Jace shook his head and grinned, watching as she and Isabelle danced around the room.

_"Foreign types with the hookah pipes say, way oh way oh oh way oh way oh. Walk like an Egyptian."_

"You sure you don't wanna?" Clary smiled and motioned for him to come forward before donning her Egyptian stance once more.

"Quite," he said with a smile. "Come on nerd boy, let's get these boxes."

Simon stood in a hurry and rushed over to where Jace stood.

"Spoil sports," Isabelle said.

Simon leaned over as they walked toward the back. "Those girls are crazy."

Jace laughed, thinking he quite liked it.

After a few hours, Simon and Isabelle had settled on unpacking the boxes for the front of the store and Jace stayed in back going through the old volumes from the second box. Clary divided her time between them, cataloging each box into the inventory book.

Jace moved toward the wall to collect the last box, but when he picked it up, he knocked a small leather-bound book from Luke's desk. Setting the box down, he bent to retrieve the volume. The title suggested it was a book of poetry. He furrowed his brow and flipped it open, skimming the words on the pages, until he came to one poem that seemed familiar to him, though he didn't know why. His eyes followed the words, the meaning sinking deep inside, resonating in a way he didn't understand.

_I want you to know  
one thing._

_You know how this is:_  
_if I look_  
_at the crystal moon, at the red branch_  
_of the slow autumn at my window,_  
_if I touch_  
_near the fire_  
_the impalpable ash_  
_or the wrinkled body of the log,_  
_everything carries me to you,_  
_as if everything that exists,_  
_aromas, light, metals,_  
_were little boats_  
_that sail_  
_toward those isles of yours that wait for me._

_Well, now,_  
_if little by little you stop loving me_  
_I shall stop loving you little by little._

_If suddenly_  
_you forget me_  
_do not look for me,_  
_for I shall already have forgotten you._

_If you think it long and mad,_  
_the wind of banners_  
_that passes through my life,_  
_and you decide_  
_to leave me at the shore_  
_of the heart where I have roots,_  
_remember_  
_that on that day,_  
_at that hour,_  
_I shall lift my arms_  
_and my roots will set off_  
_to seek another land._

"What're you reading?" Clary's soft voice came from behind him, startling him so he almost dropped the book.

"Um, a poem." He glanced at the title. "_If You Forget Me _by Pablo Neruda."

"Oh, that's a good one." She nodded. "One of my favorites."

He furrowed his brows and looked back at the page. "Yeah. It seems really familiar. Like I've heard it before somewhere."

"Maybe you have. I especially like the last part." She closed her eyes and recited the ending of the poem, word for word:

_"But  
if each day,  
each hour,  
you feel that you are destined for me  
with implacable sweetness,  
if each day a flower  
climbs up to your lips to seek me,  
ah my love, ah my own,  
in me all that fire is repeated,  
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,  
my love feeds on your love, beloved,  
and as long as you live it will be in your arms  
without leaving mine" _

Jace stared at her, his eyes never moving from her face until she opened hers.

"What," she asked.

"I'm impressed, Pippi."

"Why?" Her cheeks grew pink under his gaze.

"I just never figured you for a closet poetry lover." He grinned.

"Yeah, well, there are a lot of things you don't know about me, Jace Wayland." She reached out and poked him in the side.

He flinched to the side, dropping the book and laughing.

"Did you—" Clary stepped forward, her brow arched. "Did you just _giggle_?" She poked him again.

"Guys do not giggle, Pippi." Jace held his hands out in front of him and leaned away from her, backing up.

She shook her head slowly from side to side, a large grin stretching over her lips. "No, I think you did. I distinctly heard a giggle come out of your mouth." She lifted her hand, finger out and poised to poke him again. "I also find it downright sexy that you're ticklish."

Clary thrust forward, faking him out but still making him flinch away.

"You'd better stop," he said, laughter tingeing his voice.

"Oh yeah?" she asked. "You gonna make me?"

"If I have to."

Clary raised her brows and lunged at him, but he caught her wrists before she made contact with his side. She struggled against him, trying to loosen herself from his grip, but he made sure to hold on tight enough to keep her away but lax enough not to hurt her. Somehow, in the midst of their goofing around, Jace backed her up into one of the bookshelves, holding her hands firmly against the books next to her head.

"Are you done now?" he asked.

"Maybe, maybe not. Guess you'll just have to let me go and find out." She peered up at him from under her lashes.

Jace leaned down until his face was right in front of hers. "Then maybe I won't let go."

The smile on Clary's face slowly dissipated and was replaced by a soft pink flush on her cheeks. She drew her lower lip between her teeth and her eyes dropped to his mouth. Jace removed his hands from her wrists and entwined his fingers with hers—still holding them to the books on either side of her face. His pulse quickened and his body moved instinctually toward hers, pressing her harder against the bookcase.

Clary's breath came shallow and quick, her little shoulders moving faster than before. Jace leaned in, slowly inching his way toward her. The heat between them flickered and flared the closer he got. Her mouth parted slightly and her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. He was so close he could almost taste her as her warm breath spread over his face. It felt like miles instead of millimeters, hours instead of seconds before they would touch. But Jace didn't rush. The anticipation made that moment when they'd come together even more fulfilling than if he hurried along. He'd never been one for delayed gratification before, but with Clary, it only made it better.

Clary let out a small gasp when their lips finally touched. She tightened her grip on his hands as she moved her mouth with his. He could feel every inch of her body against his which only made him press into her harder. It was almost as if feeling more made him need to feel even more than that. A small whimper escaped from Clary's throat at the contact which only made him want to move in closer.

Jace let go of Clary's hands and cupped her face, pulling her lips harder against his. Clary dropped her arms and grabbed his hips, keeping him pressed flush against her. Sensation flared through his body and he kissed her harder, deeper. She dished back what he gave her and beyond. Her hands slipped up under his shirt, her fingers digging into the flesh at his side. He couldn't stop the groan that built in his throat, and without giving it another thought, he lowered his hands to under her behind and lifted her to his hips. Her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms around his neck.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jace knew they probably shouldn't be doing what they were doing, especially there. But God help him if he couldn't stop. She clung to him, her kisses never slowing or decreasing in intensity. Her hands found their way to his hair, tugging at the strands. The more they kissed, the more they pressed themselves together, the more he wanted. She wasn't close enough, never close enough. She squeezed him with her thighs and he tightened his hold on her. His mind spun, not a single rational thought settling in his brain. All he knew was he wanted her, more than he'd ever wanted anyone before.

"Luke, I told you before I left that I put the combination on your desk."

Jace and Clary froze for a split second before both let go and Clary dropped back onto her feet, bumping into the bookcase behind her and causing several volumes to crash to the floor.

"Clary? What in the—"

Jocelyn and Luke rounded the corner and stopped immediately when they saw the two of them.

Jace realized at that moment that, even though he didn't have his hands on Clary's ass any longer and his lips weren't plastered to hers, he still stood entirely too close to her, her body still flush with the bookshelf behind her.

Jocelyn furrowed her brows and took a step forward. Jace thought he should move away, but at that point, figured it may make them look more guilty than they actually were.

"Clarissa," shock and maybe a small bit of anger laced Jocelyn's voice, "what's going on here?" Her eyes shifted between Clary and Jace.

To Jace's surprise, Clary reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it one short squeeze. Jocelyn's gaze dropped to their hands and her eyes widened. He didn't know what Clary was doing but hoped to hell she did.

"Um, this is kinda what I wanted to talk to you about the other day." Clary's voice came out quiet but stunningly strong.

Jace drew in and let out a slow breath.

Jocelyn's eyes slowly rose from their clasped hands and met his. A look he'd never seen before flashed over her face. He couldn't tell what it was, but he knew without a doubt, it wasn't a happy expression. In fact, if he had to guess, it would have had to fall somewhere between appalled and livid. Hell, she was going to kill him right there in the back of Luke's dusty old bookstore, and there was nothing he or anyone else could do about it.


	24. Make Me Whole

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

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**_Chapter 24: Make Me Whole_**

_Chapter Songs: _

_Tomorrow – Avril Lavigne_

_Pieces – Red_ *lyrics to Pieces belong to Red

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Uncomfortable didn't even begin to describe the car ride home. Clary fidgeted in the passenger seat, peeking at her mother through her peripheral. Jocelyn stared out the windshield, her mouth pressed into a tight, thin line, and her eyes not moving a centimeter from the road in front of them. The look on her face conveyed she was angry, but how angry was the question of the night.

Clary chewed at her bottom lip, wanting to get the inevitable over with. She didn't care if Jocelyn scolded her or even if she outright yelled, the silence was worse than either of those. Her mother hadn't spoken a word since she'd demanded Clary ride home with her instead of Jace, Simon, and Isabelle.

She knew she should probably be nervous—heck, she should probably be downright terrified. But all she felt was relief, relief that finally the secret was out and they wouldn't have to hide any longer. She was also immensely happy Jocelyn and Luke hadn't been more stealthy in their entrance to the back room. Clary couldn't even imagine what Jocelyn would have done had she caught them in the—_position_—they'd been in seconds before. Her cheeks flushed and a flare of heat shot through her as the memory floated through her mind. Jace's lips on hers, his hands on her behind, her legs wrapped around him tightly, jagged books poking into her back. The scent of dust and ink and Jace flooded her senses so intensely she could still smell it even now. Shaking herself out of her own head, she turned to Jocelyn.

"Mom—" she started, unable to stand the silence any longer, but Jocelyn cut her off by raising her hand.

"Clary, just—I need to think for a bit. We'll talk when we get home." She placed her hand back on the steering wheel and let out a loud breath.

Clary sighed and turned toward the window. The scenery passed by in a blur. The muted colors of fall and the bland faces of buildings mixed together, forming nothing more than a big blob in front of Clary's eyes. Concentration on anything other than the thoughts bombarding her mind was all but impossible at the moment. She wished Jocelyn would just say _something_ already. The silence grated on her nerves and made her wonder what would come of this whole situation. It really couldn't be _that _big of a deal, could it? People Clary's age dated all the time. Some even went out as early as the beginning of freshman year. She'd never asked much of Jocelyn, had never questioned a rule or even thought about it until now. The idea that her mother could tell her she couldn't see Jace made her stomach clench in anxious anticipation. Clary knew Jocelyn still harbored some uneasy feelings toward him, but she'd had hope after their conversation the day before that maybe, just maybe, her mother had set aside those ideas. But from the strained look on her face now, Clary wasn't sure if that would be the case.

After several more minutes, Jocelyn eased the car into the driveway and shut down the engine, pausing before getting out. She lowered her gaze to her hands, picking at her fingers. With a deep breath she looked up, but instead of meeting Clary's eyes, her gaze drifted over Clary's shoulder. A determined expression fixed on her face.

Clary hesitantly looked behind her and stifled a groan when she saw Maryse and Robert just arriving home.

"Clary." Jocelyn's voice was low, quiet, scary. "Go wait on the porch for me."

"But, Mom—"

Her eyes flashed to Clary's, a spark of anger moving through them. "No 'buts,' Clarissa."

Clary cringed and slowly made her way out of the car, watching closely as her mother stomped across the yard. Maryse's smile faltered as Jocelyn reached her. Her mother spoke animatedly, her hands flailing and her head bobbing. Clary trudged up the steps and sat on the two-seater bench. She watched as Maryse's face morphed from expressions of shock to anger. Her brows furrowed further than Clary thought possible on a human being. What she wouldn't give to be a fly buzzing around both of their heads right then. What was Jocelyn saying, and furthermore what was Maryse saying in return?

Just then, Jace's car pulled up next to Maryse's. Isabelle hopped out and dashed up the stairs and into the house before Jace even shut down the engine. He got out slowly, his face fixed into a blank expression. No emotion whatsoever showed. Clary wished she had even an iota of his control.

She watched as Maryse half-turned toward him and said something. It didn't look to Clary like she was angry with him, which she was glad of. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and lowered his head, answering back to whatever she'd said. Jocelyn stood there with her hands on her hips as Jace nodded and started toward his house. Right before he reached the steps, he turned and glanced in Clary's direction, a small grin lifting one corner of his mouth. Clary couldn't help but smile and duck her head as she felt the heat rise in her cheeks.

After a bit, Jocelyn made her way back to the house and Maryse walked in the direction of hers. Clary fiddled with her fingers as Jocelyn climbed the steps and sat beside her. A cool breeze wafted across the porch, ruffling both of their hair. Clary reached up and tucked a few strands that had come loose from her braids behind her ear.

Jocelyn sighed and glanced out at the yard, squinting against the harsh glare of the slowly retreating sun. "Maryse and I would like to discuss this with the both of you in a few minutes. But first, I want you to tell me something," she said quietly. "How long has this been going on?"

Clary pushed out a gush of air. "Not that long."

Jocelyn turned back to her, her eyes unreadable. "That's not an answer, Clarissa. Days? Minutes? Seconds?"

"Since the night of the dance."

Jocelyn raised her brows and her voice. "So, you've been seeing him, behind my back, and sleeping over at their house without my knowledge of this for _weeks_?"

"It wasn't like that, Mom."

"Then tell me what it's like, Clary?" Jocelyn crossed her arms over her chest and turned slightly on the bench.

"We—we—" Anxiety crowded into Clary's chest. She knew this was going to be a difficult conversation, especially now that Jocelyn knew she was indeed with Jace, but also because she had hidden it from her. "We were just friends for a while and then it just . . . grew, I guess." Her cheeks burned unbearably hot.

"And you felt the need to hide this from me?"

Clary jerked her head up. "I didn't want to hide anything. It's just—"

"It's just what?" Jocelyn stood and paced the porch in front of the swing. "I just—I don't understand this, Clary? How could you keep this from me? Basically lie to me by omission. We've always told each other everything before. Is this the type of influence he has over you?"

Anger sparked inside and Clary stood, narrowing her eyes. "My decision not to tell you had nothing to do with him."

"Oh, really?" She stopped and crossed her arms again. "Then what exactly does it have to do with?"

"Oh, I don't know, Mom, maybe this?" She thrust her hand between them. "You haven't exactly been very supportive of the whole guy issue, and also, you made it very clear a while back that you didn't like Jace. What was I supposed to do? I like him and he likes me. I knew if I told you, you'd act just like this."

Jocelyn gaped at her for a few moments before her face softened minutely. "I know I've been strict on the boy thing, but what would you have me do? That boy could have hurt you last year. Am I just supposed to sit back and watch you step right into something like that again?"

"No, Mom. You're not. But you can't just deem every boy bad and never let me find out for myself."

Jocelyn snorted. "And you think this boy is good for you?" She gestured toward the Lightwood's house and shook her head. "I know Maryse says he's made a vast improvement since moving here, but he has a long track record with inappropriate behavior with girls, not to mention the various other trouble he's been into, Clary. Am I supposed to just turn a blind eye to that? Let you go off with him, doing God knows what and be okay with it?"

Clary pinched her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "Do you think I'm not aware of his past, Mother?"

"I don't know. Are you?"

Clary sighed. "Yes, I am. I know what he was like. Not only did I get the gist from him but from Isabelle too. I'm not stupid."

Jocelyn stepped forward. "I never said you were, it's just—well, you don't have a lot of experience with boys and Jace—Jace is . . ."

"Is what?" Clary narrowed her eyes.

Jocelyn grimaced and turned away, her eyes glued to the street in front of the house. "He's the type of boy that uses girls and once he gets what he wants, he tosses them aside. Believe me, I know."

"How would you know? You don't even know him?" Clary couldn't help the venom that seeped into her voice.

"Maybe not, but I know his type." She turned around and met Clary's stare once more. "I married one just like him."

"What?" Clary stumbled back a few steps, the backs of her knees hitting the wooden bench of the swing and almost causing her to fall. "What are you talking about?"

Jocelyn's eyes met hers. "I never wanted to tell you this—to taint the image of your father in your mind. But I really think you ought to know." She paused. "The night your father died was the night he left me. There I was, eight months pregnant with a toddler at home and he decides he's had enough. He doesn't want to be a father or a husband. He'd rather play the field; sow his wild oats or other such nonsense."

"Mom . . ."

She waved her hand in front of her face. "It doesn't matter anymore, Clary. He's gone and it's over. I just—I just don't want you to get involved with someone like that. Someone that can hurt you too."

Clary moved over to where Jocelyn stood. She wrapped her arms around her mother's waist and laid her head on her chest, hugging her tight. "I'm sorry Dad did that to you, Mom. I really am. You didn't deserve it." She looked up. "But I promise you, Jace isn't like that. He's . . . he's nice to me, sweet, charming. Maybe . . ."

"Maybe what?" Jocelyn spoke quietly and brushed Clary's hair back from her face.

"Maybe if you met him—for real this time—he'd charm you too."

"I doubt that dear. I'm not a lovesick teenage girl."

"Neither was I. Trust me."

Jocelyn studied her for a moment before sighing and reaching out to take Clary's hand. "Come on. I told Maryse we'd be over shortly."

Clary tugged against Jocelyn's hand, stopping her before she descended the steps. "Promise me you'll keep an open mind. Please? I lo—ike him, a lot. Please?"

Her mother reached up and patted her cheek. "I can promise I'll try. I won't lie, Clary. I'm very uncomfortable with this, especially since he lives right next door. There are just too many . . . things . . . that could happen." She flashed Clary a look that made her face heat. There was no way she wanted to talk about _that_ with her mother—ever if possible.

As they neared the Lightwood's house, Clary felt a twinge of nervousness wash through her. She sincerely hoped she wasn't wrong and Jace would put on his charming face instead of his asshaty one. Because God knew he loved being an ass whenever possible. With him, she could never be sure which he'd choose, but she hoped he'd decide to be good for once.

They climbed the porch steps together and Clary knocked on the door, glancing back at Jocelyn who looked, surprisingly, a little bit nervous herself. Was she worried Jace would lure her in too? Clary smirked at the idea.

A moment later, the door creaked open and a teary eyed Maryse poked her head out. "Clary. Jocelyn. I didn't expect to see you so soon." Her eyes fell to Clary. "I thought you'd be . . . discussing . . . things a little longer."

"Maryse, what's wrong?" Jocelyn stepped forward, laying her outstretched hand on Maryse's shoulder.

Maryse shook her head. "Nothing. Nothing's _wrong_. It's just—"

It was then Clary heard the faint tinkling of the piano. A ghost of a smile crossed her lips.

Maryse sucked in a breath and opened her eyes wide, trying to stop the forming tears from spilling over. "He—he's never played when we were home before. Never." She paused to clear her throat. "And now he is," she whispered. "He is." Her eyes fell to Clary's face and a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

"Who?" Jocelyn asked, the confusion evident in her voice.

Maryse cocked her head back and opened the door wider. "Come," she said, "you'll see."

Clary and her mother stepped over the threshold and followed Maryse to the archway leading to the piano room. Jace sat in front of the instrument, his back to them, and his hands moving gently over the keys. Fading light from the window cast over the room, bathing it in a golden glow.

Maryse stepped beside Clary, her eyes intent on Jace. "They told us when he came to live with us that he played, so we bought him this piano. But he would never play for us. We tried to get him to, but he always refused. He'll sit in his room and play the guitar, but never for us. Only late at night or when we're gone," she whispered. "And today—he just came in here and started playing." Her eyes found Clary's. "I believe you're partly responsible for this."

Jocelyn grabbed Clary's shoulder and gently pulled her back against her chest. "What are you talking about?"

Maryse sighed and reached out, pulling Jocelyn's hand away from Clary and tugging her toward the living area. "Come on. Let's leave these kids and chat for a few."

"But—" Jocelyn said, twisting her neck toward Clary and resisting Maryse's pull.

Maryse looked at Clary and winked.

"It's okay, Mom. I'll be there in a minute."

Jocelyn's eyes darted between Clary's face and Jace's back, her reluctance to leave them alone obvious. Finally, she relented and followed Maryse out of the room. Clary stood in the doorway for a few more moments, watching as the light retreated slowly, leaving more of the room in shadows. After a bit, she crossed the floor, stopping only when she reached his side.

"You almost made your mom cry," she said.

A slow, lazy grin tweaked his lips. His eyes stayed on the keys. "Is that so?"

She sat next to him on the bench. "Yes." Narrowing her eyes, she took in his smirk. "You did it on purpose, didn't you?"

He shrugged and continued playing, his smile widening.

"You're an asshat, Jace Wayland."

Finally, he glanced up at her. "What? I needed to soften her up. I knew your mother was coming to talk to her, so I did what I could."

Clary shook her head. "You're not supposed to use your God given musical talents for evil."

"And what do you propose I use instead? My good looks? Somehow I don't think that's going to work on my mother."

Clary scrunched her nose. "I don't know, but you shouldn't manipulate her like that."

"How is playing the piano manipulating her?"

"Because you're doing it to 'soften her up' not to make her happy."

"How do you know?"

"Are you doing it to make her happy?"

He glanced away. "Maybe."

Clary softened a bit and reached out, laying her hand on his forearm. "Really?"

He continued playing and after a moment, shrugged. "She defended me to your mom," he said quietly, meeting her eyes. "I figured she deserved something nice."

Clary gazed at him before leaning forward and placing a chaste kiss to his lips.

"What was that for?" he asked when she pulled away.

She reached up and laid her palm against his face, tracing her thumb along his cheek. "Because you're sweet."

He grinned. "I thought I was an asshat."

"You're that too."

He chuckled and turned back to the piano. "Somehow sweetness and asshatyness don't seem to go well together. Nothing associated with an ass is ever sweet."

"I don't know," she said nonchalantly. "You didn't seem to think that when your hands were all over mine earlier."

He paused for a moment, his head cocked slightly to the side as if he were deep in thought. "True. And that was pretty sweet. I stand corrected. You're so smart Pippi, this is why I keep you around—that and for your sweet ass, of course."

She swatted him on the arm then inched toward him and rested her head on his shoulder, her fingers tracing soft lines over his biceps. "I wish I knew how to play the piano."

"Then you should have started when you were barely out of diapers like me. There's no way you could get this good now."

Clary sat up and shoved him hard in the shoulder. "Shut up."

With a laugh, he continued to play. After a moment, he stopped and turned to her. "Come here." He held his hand out and chuckled when she furrowed her brows. "I'm not going to do anything perverted—at least not right now when our mother's are in the next room. I want to show you something."

Clary hesitated, eyeing him carefully before standing.

He pulled her to him. "Sit in front of me."

She raised one brow but did as he asked, settling herself just in front of him on the bench. He stretched his arms around her and grabbed her hands, placing them on the keys. "This is middle C." His cheek rested against hers and his breath tickled her neck as he pressed her finger down emitting a note. "It's important to remember where this is."

Clary pressed the key once more. "Okay, middle C, got it."

Jace took her through the rest of the scale, lightly pushing her fingers down on the correct keys for each note. After she'd demonstrated she could remember which keys were which notes, he asked "So, which cliché beginner song do you want to learn? Chopsticks, Mary had a Little Lamb, or Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star?"

Clary laughed. "Does it matter?" She turned toward him, finding his face extremely close to hers.

"Of course it does, Pippi." He touched his lips to the end of her nose. "Your answer will determine your fate as an accomplished pianist."

She gave him an incredulous look, letting him know she thought he was full of crap. "Whatever, Goldie. Um, Twinkle Twinkle?"

He grinned. "Good choice. That was my first song too. See, all the more proof we were meant to be."

She beamed at him and pivoted back to the piano. Jace walked her through how to play Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, going through it slowly several times himself before letting her try. Clary bit her lip and placed her fingers on the keys, pressing tentatively on each one, messing up more than she got right.

When she finished, she sat back slightly and Jace let out a deep breath. "God, you suck," he said.

Clary elbowed him in the gut. "Shut up, loser. This is my first time. I can't be expected to be good at it."

"Sure you can. I was good at it the first time." He laughed when she tried to elbow him again and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her against his chest and brushing his lips along the side of her neck. "Let me show you how it's supposed to be done," he said, his warm breath causing a shiver to race up her spine. Reaching forward, he placed his fingers on the ivory, his arms forming a cage around her.

"Do you want me to move?" she asked.

"No," his mouth hovered just next to her ear, his voice breathy and low. "I want you right here."

Clary swallowed hard and leaned back into him, her stomach squeezing with his words. She felt the movement of his chest with every breath he took. The muscles in his arms flexed against her shoulders as soft, slow music flooded the room. She watched his long, slender fingers dance across the keys, marveling at the grace and strength present in them. Reaching forward, she traced the line of his forearm with her fingertips, trailing down and lightly skimming along the back of his hand, feeling as it moved beneath her touch. After a minute, she felt his nose brush along her cheek and then his voice, quiet and slow, breathed the words into her ear.

_*I'm here again, a thousand miles away from you. _

_A broken mess, just scattered pieces of who I am. _

_I tried so hard, thought I could do this on my own. _

_I've lost so much along the way._

Clary closed her eyes briefly and relaxed into him, feeling the music swell up from inside him and vibrate throughout his body. His warmth spread through her, relaxing her almost immediately. The way his arms held her trapped between them and how his chest pressed against her back, even though his hands were busy on the piano, it felt almost as if he were holding her.

_Then I see your face, I know I'm finally yours. _

_I find everything I thought I lost before. _

_You call my name, I come to you in pieces . . . so you can make me whole._

Jace ran his lips just barely along her jaw. The combination of his breath against her skin, the words he sang, and the vibrations from his voice, caused goosebumps to rise on her flesh.

_I've come undone. _

_But you make sense of who I am. _

_Like puzzle pieces in your hand. _

_When I see your face, I know I'm finally yours. _

_I find everything I thought I lost before. _

_You call my name, I come to you in pieces . . . so you can make me whole._

Jace's hands stilled on the keys, and the last note hung in the air, surrounding them like mist after a pouring rain. For a few short seconds, time seemed to stop and nothing else existed in the universe but them. Clary heard nothing, felt nothing, but his breath against her skin, the heat of his body soaking into hers and the rapid beating of her own heart. Jace's cheek brushed against hers, the small hairs on her neck rising at the sensation. Her eyes fluttered shut once more as his lips ghosted over her flesh and he sang in an almost whispered voice, "_ When I see your face, I know I'm finally yours. I find everything I thought I lost before. You call my name, I come to you in pieces . . ."_

Clary's breath hitched, and he placed a small kiss just behind her ear, his mouth lingering against her. "You make me whole, Clary." The words flowed over her skin, piercing into her and sending a tremor up her spine.

Reaching back and slipping her hand into the hair at the nape of his neck, Clary turned her face slowly toward him. It had always been said that the eyes were the windows to the soul. That they were the one place a person couldn't hide what they really were. Clary never really believed until that moment. But when she met Jace's gaze, her eyes flitting from one of his to the other, she saw so much behind them she could barely comprehend it all. And she knew he could see the same in hers. There was no description available for what she felt for him. Love? Adoration? Nothing seemed to be enough. Yes, for the lack of a better term, she loved him. More than she ever thought humanly possible. So much more, in fact, that the emotion swelling inside her caused almost physical pain. Her heart ached when she looked at him.

On the outside, he seemed rough, uncaring and unreachable. He even allowed—wanted—people to think of him that way. But with her, he was stripped bare, raw, broken. And that was okay with both of them. She wished there were more than just words to tell him how she felt, to let him know how important and special he was to her, because those words weren't enough. They never would be. His musical abilities gave him an advantage over her in how he could express himself, but she didn't have that to offer him. So, she gave him the only thing she could.

Tightening her fingers on his neck, she tugged him slightly toward her. His lips touched hers, pressing against them softly.

Jace raised his hands and cupped her cheeks, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw. He placed a few more soft kisses to each corner and the center of her mouth before touching his forehead to hers and closing his eyes.

Clary reached up and grasped his wrists. "Do you think they're going to make us stop seeing each other?" she asked, the fear the question brought to her mind lacing her words.

Jace let out a slow breath and opened his mouth to answer when someone cleared their throat behind them.

Both of them scrambled back, Clary nearly falling on her butt in her haste to untangle herself from Jace. Once they stood side-by-side, Clary peered over at both their mother's standing in the archway of the room.

Maryse eyed them speculatively and Jocelyn just stared, her face not betraying her feelings in the least.

"How long have you been there?" Jace asked.

"Long enough to see that this is much more serious than either of us thought," Maryse answered. "We should talk." She turned on her heel and made her way out of the room. Jocelyn lingered for a moment, studying them skeptically before turning to follow.

Clary let out a slow breath and peered up at Jace. "There's no way we're making it out of this alive."

Jace rolled his eyes. "Don't be so melodramatic, Pippi. They're not going to kill us. Besides, even if they tried, it wouldn't be you they killed. I'm the douchebag guy in this relationship. Don't forget that."

"True." She smiled up at him. "How could I have forgotten?"

Narrowing his eyes, he bent down, kissed her quickly, and grabbed her hand. "Come on." He pulled her toward the doorway. "Let's get this over with."

.o.O.o.

Although it wasn't obvious to the naked eye, Jace could feel Clary trembling slightly beside him. Why she was so nervous to face her own mother was beyond him. Then again, maybe he should be worried too. Maybe she was about to turn all mama bear on him and go for the jugular. Hell, maybe she'd seen more that afternoon than she let on. If she had, no part of his anatomy would be safe from her wrath.

He fidgeted uncomfortably while trying to maintain his "cool" demeanor at the thought. Showing his anxiety would only serve to fuel Jocelyn's suspicions about his intentions toward Clary. Playing it like he hadn't kissed the living hell out of her daughter and copped a feel of her ass just hours before was the way to go. He fixed his face into the blank stare he'd perfected over the last twelve years.

Jace snuck a peek over at Clary. One of her hands gripped her thigh, squeezing intermittently and the other was up by her mouth, her teeth gnawing at a nail that had been pretty much obliterated by then. He furrowed his brows slightly, wanting to reach out to her, to calm her, but didn't want Jocelyn to jump the gun and kill him early. Unfortunately, watching her squirm proved too much for him and he lifted his hand, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and gently pulling her fingers from her mouth. A small bead of blood welled up on the one she'd had in her mouth. She glanced up at him, her eyes wide and face slightly paler than normal. He didn't know what to do to relax her so he opted to entwine his fingers with hers and offer her a small smile. She swallowed visibly and grinned back. It was tiny and didn't reach her eyes, but the act did seem to pacify her some.

Maryse and Jocelyn sat in the two chairs across from them, their legs crossed and hands clasped in their laps. He wondered briefly if they'd talked strategy and formed a united front against them. By the way they looked, all poised and ready to strike, it wouldn't surprise him. Women could be downright sneaky and malicious when they wanted, and he'd had more than his share of females look at him with the same warning gaze they wore now.

Maryse's eyes moved between Jace and Clary, seemingly taking in everything. Jocelyn's stayed fixed on their clasped hands. Jace couldn't tell what the look on her face meant. It didn't look angry or happy. The woman was a complete enigma to him. He couldn't help but study her further. She looked so much like Clary, though her hair was a deeper shade of red and she was taller. He wondered if this was what Clary might look like once she was older.

A slow sigh emanated across from them and pulled Jace's attention away from Jocelyn to Maryse.

"Well, I suppose we should just come out with it," Maryse said.

Clary's hand tensed in Jace's and he squeezed gently. Jocelyn's eyes rose and met his, curiosity and uncertainty tainted her gaze. He wondered what she thought as she looked at him. Did she think he was still the same player he used to be? The one he was sure his own mother had informed her of. He'd never felt ashamed for the guy he'd once been until that moment. He wished he could erase it, that he could be a better man in Jocelyn's eyes. Trust was important, he knew this, and he wanted her to trust him. He wanted her to believe that he would never intentionally hurt Clary, to know that above all else, she would be safe with him. He'd treat her the way she deserved, nothing less.

"Both Jocelyn and I have discussed the issue at hand," Maryse continued. "We're both extremely unhappy that you felt the need to hide this from us. If only you'd come to us we could have worked something out. Could have set some guidelines forth that would have made us all more comfortable with the situation." She paused and gave Jace what he could only describe as "the stink eye."

He cringed internally, but externally remained impassive.

"Here's the problem," Maryse leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, "the fact that we're neighbors makes the seemingly unlimited access you two have to each other a bit worrisome. Not to mention that Clary is a good friend to Isabelle and frequently stays over with her. This," she waved her hand in front of her, gesturing between Jace and Clary, "'situation' puts us all in an uncomfortable position. We want to be able to trust you two to act—appropriately," she raised a brow at Jace, "with each other, but the fact that you hid it at all brings your trustworthiness into question."

Jace felt Clary tighten her grip on his hand.

Maryse glanced at Jocelyn. "Jocelyn is also concerned because Clary has never expressed an interest in dating until very recently, and she's only fifteen."

Clary's head popped up. "Only for another week."

Jace turned toward her, raising his brows. "Your birthday's next week?"

She looked at him and smiled. "Yep. Saturday."

He grinned back. "You never told me."

"I was going to, I just—" Clary broke off and Jace noticed the absolute silence of the room. Both of them turned slowly toward their mothers. Clary lowered her head and said, "Sorry."

Maryse's face softened. "I can tell you two care for each other, but it's just—we just can't—"

Jace's mouth dropped open. They were going to forbid them from seeing each other. He could tell by the way Maryse's eyes caught his.

Clenching his jaw, he stood, bringing Clary with him. "So that's it? You're just going to lay down the law without allowing us to have our say?"

Maryse stood, her hands outstretched and palm out in front of her. "I'm sorry. We just feel it's best, considering . . ."

"Considering what? That we live next door? That she's Isabelle's friend? Why does that matter?" He fought hard to contain the anger swelling up inside him. He knew he needed to remain calm, but the only thing keeping him grounded was Clary's hand in his.

"It matters because it makes the rest of us uncomfortable," Maryse said simply, though her eyes conveyed what she said wasn't the whole truth. Jocelyn refused to look up and he got the idea that it wasn't the "collective" that felt uncomfortable at all. It was only one. "We're worried about how quickly this has escalated and how easily you kept it from us—for weeks. It makes us afraid of what . . . else . . . you two could be keeping secret."

"Jesus," Jace swore under his breath. "We're not doing anything wrong."

Maryse's eyes met his. "Jocelyn says she and Luke walked in on something that seemed pretty heavy."

"Mom!" Clary said, her eyes widening.

Jocelyn finally looked up. "Are you going to deny it?"

Clary's mouth snapped shut, her cheeks reddening.

Jace rolled his eyes and looked at Maryse. "We were just kissing. Is that against what's deemed appropriate now?"

"Just kissing?" Jocelyn stood slowly, anger tingeing her eyes. "If you were just kissing then why were you both so flushed and Clary's back held against the bookcase by your body?"

"Mom," Clary whispered and lowered her face. "We _were_ just kissing." She glanced up, a few stray tears rolling over her cheeks. "I know I haven't been completely honest about this whole thing, but please believe me when I say we haven't done anything inappropriate. He's always been respectful of me, Mom."

Jocelyn walked forward, taking Clary's face in her hands. "Baby, please. Just trust me. I know what I'm doing."

Clary's face contorted and she pushed Jocelyn's hands away. "No you don't. You don't know anything about this. About him, or about me." She swiped her hands over her face. "Did you know I went to Jonathan's grave?"

Jocelyn's eyes widened in shock. "You did? But, I thought—I thought you couldn't . . ."

Clary shook her head. "I couldn't. But," she looked up at Jace, "but Jace helped me. He went with me. He held me when I broke down and carried me home when I couldn't walk afterward."

Jace felt Maryse's eyes on him as Clary spoke, but he didn't raise his to meet hers. He didn't want to see what they held for him. Instead, he lowered his gaze to the floor.

"And that day at the school, when you saw us together, and that time on Jonathan's birthday—" Jocelyn stifled a gasp.

Jace tugged on Clary's arm, she looked up at him. "Clary . . . don't . . ."

"Why?" she asked. "She should know."

"You don't need to—"

She stopped him with a finger to his lips, her eyes boring into his. "Yes," she spoke softly, "I do." She moved her hand to his cheek, still holding his gaze. "She needs to know this is about more than just a teenage crush. That it goes deeper than that. What we are to each other, how we've been there for each other—it's . . . more."

He studied her for a moment, seeing the determination in her stare and knowing nothing he could say would change her mind. "Okay."

They turned back to their mothers, who surprisingly, both had tears in their eyes. Jocelyn's hands covered her mouth and Maryse wore a slight smile.

"Mom?" Clary asked. But Jocelyn's eyes never wavered from Jace.

He started feeling uncomfortable under her scrutiny and wondered if he should move a little farther away from her.

She lowered her hands. "So you're the reason," she said.

Jace raised his brows. "The reason for what?"

"That she smiles." Jocelyn took a step forward. "I've been wondering what did it. What sparked the change in her. Ever since the accident, she didn't smile—not for real. But lately—lately she does." Her eyes moved to Clary and back again. "And now I see why." She moved back and let her eyes roam over them fully. "You care for my daughter."

Even though it was a statement and not a question, Jace answered anyway. "Yes."

Jocelyn turned to Maryse, her tone abrupt when she said, "I've changed my mind. I'll allow it." Clary gasped, and Jace felt as though a weight had been lifted from him. "Under a few conditions of course," Jocelyn added, her face stern. She looked pointedly at the both of them. "First, there will be no more sleepovers here. Isabelle may stay at our house, but I'm not going to allow you to sleep so close to your—boyfriend. That would be irresponsible and just asking for trouble."

"Agreed," Maryse said.

"Fine," Clary answered, nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet. Jace had to stifle a laugh.

"Second," Jocelyn looked slightly sheepish. "I know you asked me to allow you to date—and I will. But . . . but, I'd prefer it if you doubled for the time being. Just until I feel a little more comfortable with this whole situation." She clasped her hands in front of her. "I think that's it."

Maryse nodded her head in agreement.

Clary let out a little girly squeal and thrust herself at her mother, wrapping her arms around her neck. "Thank you," she whispered, but pulled away abruptly. "But . . . what made you change your mind?"

Jocelyn glanced back at Jace. "He did."

Clary turned toward him and furrowed her brow. Jace shrugged. "How?"

"The way he looks at you." She paused and met Clary's confused gaze. "I caught a glimpse of it in the piano room, but thought for sure I was seeing things because how could a teenage boy look at a girl like that? It just isn't possible. But just now, he did it again."

"What are you talking about?" Clary asked, confusion matching what Jace felt etched on her face.

Jocelyn paused for a moment before continuing. "He looks at you like you're the most fragile, precious thing in his world." She glanced back up at him, a spark of gratitude in her eyes. "How could I say no to something like that?"


	25. Fragile Joy

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

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_**Chapter 25: Fragile Joy**_

_Chapter Songs_

_**According to You – Orianthi (Scene 1)_

_**Absolute – The Fray (Scene 3)_

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"I can't believe they both agreed to let you see each other." Isabelle leaned against the locker next to Clary's and stared down at her fingers, picking at a loose piece of skin beside her nail. "I mean, especially given the fact your mom totally caught you in the middle of a make out."

Clary rolled her eyes and turned to the stack of books in front of her, pawing through to find the one for her first class. "We weren't making out, Isabelle."

She snorted. "Well, what would you call it, then, if it's not making out?"

"I don't know, kissing, maybe?"

Isabelle dropped her hands to her hips and stared at Clary. "Seriously? Do you not know anything about the parameters of kissing verses making out?"

Clary turned toward her and raised her brows. Isabelle sighed.

"Plain old kissing does not involve wrapping your legs around a guy and being slammed against bookshelves. That would be clearly in the make out territory."

Clary frowned. "That's the last time I tell you anything."

"What? Don't you dare hold out on me! I have to live vicariously through you, since the ratio of delectable to geek in this school is seriously skewed."

Clary laughed and turned to Isabelle, shaking her head. "Okay, so this school isn't crawling with hotties, but there are plenty of great guys around." Her eyes strayed to her approaching dark-haired, bespectacled best friend. "Speaking of which, here comes one now."

Isabelle's brows shot up into her hairline and she whipped around just as Simon approached. His hair looked as though he'd been in a wind tunnel and his shirt was stretched out and bunching at the collar.

Clary closed her locker and appraised him. "What happened to you?"

He shook his head quickly and averted his eyes. "Nothing. Just a couple of football jocks being their moronic selves. It's no big deal."

"The hell it's not!" Isabelle stepped closer to him and straightened his collar.

Simon's eyes grew wide at her touch. Clary bit her lip to disguise her grin.

Isabelle looked up at him, meeting his gaze. "Who was it? I'll totally throw down with guys—and I _will_ kick their asses too."

"Oh, yeah." Simon slung his bag over his shoulder. "Like I'm going to tell you and have the entire school think I need a girl to fight my battles. Yeah, no thanks." He started moving away.

"But . . ." Isabelle followed after him.

Clary chuckled to herself and turned to make her way toward class when someone knocked against her shoulder, hard. Her books tumbled from her hands and spread across the tiled floor. The pages flew open and her notes fell from inside, twirling and floating down the congested hallway.

She sighed and crouched down, reaching out to grab the notes closest to her. Just as she wrapped her hand around the first bunch, a fancy looking heel-clad foot stomped down on her fingers.

"Ow!" She pulled her hand away and shook it rapidly in front of her. Raising her eyes to see whom the foot belonged to, she was met by the platinum blond head of Kaelie Meadows.

"Oops," Kaelie said as she raised a blood-red nail to her lips and cocked her head to the side. "Did I do that?"

Clary rolled her eyes and continued to gather her rogue papers. Once she had them all collected and piled haphazardly in her arms, she stood. Kaelie didn't move from her position, a smirk affixed to her lips and her arms crossed over her chest. Her two cronies flanked her on both sides, their faces displaying the same sneer.

Not wanting to get into anything with them in the middle of the hall, Clary walked right up to Kaelie, looked directly into her face and said, "Excuse me."

Kaelie stared back at her. "No, I don't think I will." She bent down and placed her face right in front of Clary's. "I don't like you."

Clary scoffed and leaned in closer, not wanting Kaelie to think she'd rattled her in any way. "Well, then it's highly convenient that I don't like you either."

Kaelie narrowed her eyes. "I can't understand what he's doing with you. You're so—plain and just—nothing. He's too good for you."

"Let's just humor you for a moment and assume what you're saying is actually true. What makes you think you're any better for him?"

Her eyes widened and she laughed. "Are you kidding me right now?"

"Not in the least." Clary stepped back and purposely made a big show of appraising Kaelie. "Sure, you're pretty. I'll give you that. But you're such a vindictive skank that it just overshadows any physical attributes you might have. What I don't understand is why you keep making such a fool out of yourself. I mean, how many more ways does he have to tell you he doesn't want you for you to finally get it?"

Kaelie reached forward, shoved the books out of Clary's hands once more, and kicked them further down the hall so she couldn't get to them as easily. "You'd better watch yourself, Clary. Don't think I've forgotten about the pop incident either." Lowering her voice, she hissed into Clary's ear, "You know, now that I think about it, I think I know what he wants from you. Guys like him, well, they need certain. . .things. And sometimes they like the challenge of the pure and innocent. The right to say that they were the first." She paused and pulled back slightly. "If you get what I'm saying."

Clary stepped closer, her nose nearly touching Kaelie's. "You may think you're being intimidating, but nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, the only thing you're succeeding in showing me is that you're a sore loser."

"Oh, but I haven't lost. You see. He'll get tired of you sooner or later. Either tired of trying to go places you won't go, or just tired of your inexperience." She shrugged. "Either way, I'll be waiting for when he cuts you loose. For when he gets sick of your perfect, pure, and innocent virgin self. And then, I'll give him what he really wants. What he needs."

Clary felt her face heat, but for once it wasn't with embarrassment. Never before had she wanted to hit someone like she wanted to hit Kaelie. Anger boiled in her veins and it took everything in her not to just let it loose and nail her one in her perfect, plastic nose. But she wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing her words had gotten to her. How could she know to say the one thing Clary worried most about—her inexperience, her naivety. She didn't want Jace to need anything she couldn't give him. But that—well, that wasn't something she was ready for. Somehow, Kaelie's words managed to get right under Clary's skin—right where Kaelie wanted them—and the doubt started to creep in, festering and overtaking her confidence. What if she was right? What if her inability to give him—_that_—spoiled everything between them? What if he left because she couldn't give it to him?

Shaking aside the doubt and anger Kaelie's words caused, Clary straightened her back and stared right into Kaelie's narrowed blue eyes. "For starters, don't presume to know anything about me or Jace. Second of all, what makes you think you'd be the one he'd turn to for—_that_—anyway?" Clary's gaze followed the length of Kaelie's body and back up again, taking in her over exaggerated curves and skimpy clothing. "In my opinion, he could _definitely_ do better than you."

Kaelie stepped back and stared indignantly, her mouth dropping open to say something when a voice from behind startled her.

"Seriously? Are you still harping about losing out on my brother, skankzilla?" Isabelle stood with her hands on her hips, her hair swinging behind her. "I mean, really? I think he's made it absolutely clear he has no interest in you. But if you insist, I could rearrange your face if you really need a physical reminder."

Ignoring Isabelle completely, Kaelie leaned in again. "I'll be waiting, Clary." With a grin, she and her two lackeys turned on their heels and disappeared down the thinning hallway. Clary sighed and bent to retrieve her books and papers once again, Kaelie's words stubbornly infiltrating her mind no matter how hard she tried to clear them from it. Isabelle stooped down to help her.

"Are you all right?" she asked, her eyes cautiously studying Clary's face.

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?" Clary prayed Isabelle didn't notice the trembling in her voice.

Isabelle handed Clary the notes she'd managed to gather and they both stood. "Well, I mean, she was really all up in your face. I just figured . . ."

Clary forced out a laugh and tucked the papers back into her book. "Come on, Izzy, it takes a whole heck of a lot more than that to intimidate me." She paused. "I was handling it though. You didn't have to step in."

Isabelle stopped and placed her hand on Clary's shoulder. "Clary, we're practically family. I mean, you're my neighbor, my best friend, and I swear to God you're going to freaking marry my brother someday. Of course I have to stand up for you."

Clary's face heated again. "Come on, Izzy . . ."

She laughed. "Yeah, yeah, too soon, too young, yadda yadda yadda. I know. But, I can feel it. You two are it. The kind of it all of us want. Don't let skanks like Kaelie Meadows scare you off or make you doubt that he—" She paused and glanced up at the ceiling, an expression crossing her face as if she'd just realized something. "Well, hell, I think he might actually love you."

Clary waved her hand in front of her face and snorted. "You don't have to worry about that. I told you. She doesn't bother me. She can do what she wants. It isn't going to sway what I feel."

"Sway what you feel about what?" Jace's voice came from slightly behind and beside Clary, making her jump. She turned to face him as his hand shot out and gathered the books she held, tucking them under his arm with his.

Clary grinned at the "gentlemanly" gesture he didn't even seem to notice. "Nothing. Where were you?" She wanted nothing more than to forget the altercation between her and Kaelie.

"Coach called an early team meeting—okay well, just a meeting with me to discuss my apparent 'bad behavior' last game—again." He looked down at Clary and smirked.

She rolled her eyes. "You really should learn to control your temper."

"Oh, come on. You know you love it when I get all out of control aggressive."

Clary scowled at him, but secretly agreed that a hostile Jace was an absolutely delicious sight.

Isabelle snorted. Her eyes widened when both Jace and Clary glared at her. "Sorry. Jeez." She held up her hands and slipped into the classroom they'd stopped in front of. "See you inside, Clary." She winked at her and then stuck her tongue out at Jace.

He leaned his shoulder against the wall and lowered his head, his brows pinching together as he reached out for her hand. "What happened?"

Clary glanced down and noticed a blue tinge forming under the nails of three fingers. "Nothing." She tried to pull her hand back but Jace tightened his grip and looked up at her, catching her gaze.

"Don't lie."

She let out a slow breath. "Really, it's no big deal."

"Then why won't you tell me?" His eyes moved from one of hers to the other, searching her face for the answers she didn't want to give.

Clary sighed and closed her eyes briefly before meeting his once more. "Just Kaelie being herself."

"What?" Anger flashed across his face. "She hurt you? Why?"

"Because it makes her feel big or something. I don't know."

"Was it about me?"

"Jace . . ." Clary turned away from him, really not wanting to get into it. "Just—just forget about it, okay?"

He reached out and grabbed her chin, gently turning her toward him. "No, I won't forget it. If she's hurting you because of me, then I damn well want to know."

Clary didn't speak the words, but knew her silence was enough of a confirmation for him.

"Damn it." He let out a slow breath and raised her hand to his mouth, brushing his lips along her bruised fingers. "She won't touch you again. I promise."

"Jace, please. It really is nothing. She just knocked my stuff out of my hands and stepped on my fingers. Just forget about it, all right?"

He leaned forward, his face just inches from hers. "Nope," he said. "See ya later, Pippi." Pushing away from the wall, he started to move away from her.

"Jace," Clary whisper-shouter. "Jace!"

He turned, flashed a lop-sided grin, and wiggled his fingers at her before sauntering the rest of the way down the hall.

.o.O.o.

Jace's smile faded as he rounded the corner toward his first class. He'd been around the block enough times to have been the cause of female jealousy before, and normally, it would have amused him. But not this time. Not with her. From the beginning, he knew Kaelie had a thing for him. Always touching him, cooing at him, smiling what she thought was her best flirtatious smile. While he'd never really discouraged her, he made it a point not to encourage either. After he met Clary, no other girl seemed to do anything for him. All he thought of was her, all he wanted was her. And now that he had her, he wasn't about to sit back and let some bimbo with a sick obsession of getting with him hurt her—in any way.

The warning bell rang just as Jace stepped over the threshold to homeroom. Across the room, he spied Kaelie and her two stooges whispering and snickering in the corner. He looked to the front and saw that the teacher had yet to appear. Dropping his book on his desk, Jace hopped over the one next to him and crossed over to her. When Kaelie spotted him, she glanced up and smiled, her bright red lips stretching wide across her face.

"Hey, Jace," she said.

He fought back the urge to scratch out his eardrums at the sound of her nasally voice. Placing his hands on the top of her desk, he leaned down and grinned—putting to good use whatever lure he seemed to have over her. He reached over and took her hand, studying her fingers as they lay in his. "You know, it looks like you spend quite a lot of time making your hands look pretty." He lifted his gaze to hers.

She sucked her lip between her teeth and bit down in an attempt to look alluring. It amused him how much it didn't work for her. "Um, yeah, maybe you'd like a personal tour of everything _else_ I make look pretty?" Jace almost puked a little in his mouth at the innuendo. Kaelie started moving her nails against the palm of his hand and looked up at him from under her lashes.

"Hmm . . . I was just wondering . . ." He leaned closer to her.

She closed the distance even more, licking her lips in the process. "Yes?"

He smirked again. "I was just wondering how much it would piss you off if someone say, oh, I don't know, stomped on them and ruined all your hard work." He squeezed her fingers in his palm, not enough to hurt her but enough to get his point across.

Her brow furrowed and she yanked her hand away. "What the hell are you talking about?"

All pretenses of smiles and niceties slipped from his face. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. I don't know how many ways I have to tell you, how many times I have to humiliate you before you get the very obvious hints I've been sending your way, but I don't want anything to do with you. I never did, but for whatever reason I tried to be polite about it. But you crossed a line now, Kaelie, and I'm not going to play nice anymore. This little game of yours is over, right now."

She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "I really have no idea what you mean."

"Just leave Clary alone or I swear to God you'll regret it."

She cackled. "Threatening me, Jace? Just what is it you think you're going to do? You wouldn't hit a girl now, would you?"

No. He wouldn't, but God if she wasn't testing his resolve right then and there. "Oh, I don't need to hit you to make you regret laying a finger on or saying a word to my girlfriend—though I do know a particular black haired beauty that would like nothing more than to throw down with you, and all my bets would be on her. But sadly, no, that's not what I have in mind." He leaned even closer, lowering his voice to whisper in her ear. "Do I need to remind you about a particularly humiliating position you found yourself in the night of the dance?"

Kaelie's body stiffened and her breath hitched.

"That's what I thought." Jace smiled. "You stay away from Clary—you and all your friends. You don't speak to her, touch her, or even look at her, and that little moment stays just between us. But if I find out that you so much as rubbed against her in the hall or blew your breath in her direction, I'll make sure everyone knows every sordid little detail. You got it?" He pulled back and met her fear-filled eyes.

"You wouldn't really tell anyone about that, would you? You're not that cruel," she whispered.

"I will do whatever it takes to protect her from malicious wenches like you. Don't you doubt that for even one second. Now," he straightened up, "do we have an understanding?"

Kaelie nodded.

"Good." The final bell rang and Jace turned away from Kaelie's pale face. He hopped back over the desk and plopped down into his.

"What was that all about?" Sebastian leaned over from the seat next to Jace's, lifting his chin in the direction Jace had just come from.

"Oh nothing. Just a little unfinished business." He glanced over to where Kaelie sat, sniffling into her notebook, and grinned.

.o.O.o.

Clary stared down at her geometry homework, the figures blurring together on the page. As much as she hated to admit it, Kaelie's words still haunted her thoughts. She didn't want to be that girl. The one whose entire day could be ruined by the words of a jealous, vindictive classmate, but apparently, she was.

She sighed, shoved the book to the side of her bed, and flipped onto her back, staring up at the ceiling and watching the blades of her ceiling fan twirl round and round. No matter what Kaelie insinuated, Clary knew it was too soon to even think about the implications of whether or not their physical relationship was enough. Jace hadn't expressed any disappointment in what they had going on already, but would he actually say something if he was? Another big reason being so inexperienced sucked majorly. She had no idea what the norm was, what the accepted "pace" was. How long was considered normal to wait?

The fact of the matter was, Clary had never really considered doing that before. Not that she'd really ever had any reason to think about it until now anyway. Even now, she couldn't actually picture herself doing anything like that—okay, maybe she could picture it, but only in her imagination, and even there it made her blush furiously. The truth was, sure, she wanted to—someday. And a large part of her wanted it to be with Jace. The attraction she felt toward him was undeniably strong—so strong, in fact, it sort of scared her at times. The things he could make her feel with just a simple look were enough to question every bit of her self-control. But she wasn't about to do it just because she was afraid of losing him. She definitely wasn't _that_ girl. And no matter what Kaelie said, she really didn't believe Jace was that guy either. He loved her. She knew this without a doubt. Nothing in her heart or mind told her otherwise. So why was she so disturbed by the whole thing? Did her subconscious know something she didn't?

Unable to concentrate on anything but the thoughts swirling through her mind, Clary decided she needed some air. Stumbling out of her bed and down the stairs, she found herself outside and walking toward the woods. When she entered the small clearing, only the sound of the shallow brook rushing over the rocks in the bottom touched her ears. Pale streams of moonlight filtered through the sparse branches above, lighting the area with a blue tint. Stepping around the log laying across the grassy floor, she plopped down on it and lowered her face into her hands. Why wouldn't her mind slow down? Why did all these questions and worries keep invading her thoughts? Finally, it hit her. She couldn't concentrate on anything else because she needed to talk to the one person that could give her the answers.

Pulling out her phone, she scrolled through her contacts until she found his name. With a sigh, she sent him a message.

_Busy? ~C_

A few moments later, her phone buzzed with an incoming message.

_Nope. Just screwing around with my guitar. Why? ~J_

_Can we talk? ~C_

_Sure . . . where? ~J_

_By the brook. I'm here now. ~C_

_Okay. Be there in 5. ~J_

Clary sighed and placed her phone back in her hoodie pocket. Shoving her hands inside, she stared out into the darkness, noticing a pair of fireflies engaging in a midflight dance just above the brook. She watched as they swirled and darted through the air, chasing each other back and forth. So engrossed in the display before her, she didn't even hear when Jace approached and was only made aware of his presence when she felt his lips brush against the bare skin on the back of her neck.

With a gasp, she whipped around on the log to find him crouching behind her, his hands placed on either side of her. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply before opening them again.

"You scared me."

"Sorry," he said quietly, his eyes studying her intently. "What's wrong, Clary?"

She furrowed her brows. "What makes you think something's wrong?"

He let out a sigh and lowered his head. After a minute, he spoke again. "Why do you keep doing that?"

"Doing what?"

He raised his gaze to hers. "This. Hiding stuff from me. You tried to do it today with Kaelie, and you're doing it now. Why won't you just tell me what's going on? Are you unhappy with this whole situation? Is that why you won't just talk to me?" He gestured between them.

"What?" she asked. "No." She reached out and grasped his face between her palms. "Why would you think that?"

"What else am I supposed to think? You've been acting weird ever since this morning. I thought it was just what Kaelie had done, but it just got worse as the day went on. And I saw when you were with Isabelle, you seemed fine. It was just when I came around."

Clary closed her eyes and touched her forehead to his. "I'm sorry. I'm just—I'm—"

He reached up and wrapped his hands around her wrists. "Clary, please just spit it out before you give me an aneurism."

"I don't want to have sex with you," she blurted out the string of words in a gush of air.

Before she could comprehend what she'd just said, she felt Jace go completely still under her hands. Peeking through the slit in one lid first, she finally opened her eyes. Jace's mouth hung open slightly and he looked at her with disbelief.

His hands slipped from her wrists and he rocked back out of her grasp. "Wow. That's, uh, good to know." His eyes fell to the ground and Clary saw the movement of his throat as he swallowed.

She stared at him in confusion and then finally it dawned on her what she'd just said and how it probably sounded to him. She gasped. "Wait! I meant—I didn't mean I don't want to do that with you because I do." She shook her head violently. "No, I mean, Jesus. I meant, just not right now. Christ—" She stared up at him, pleading with her eyes. "Please just shut me up." Her breathing accelerated and she felt like she might start to hyperventilate.

He reached up and cupped her cheeks. "Okay, just breathe for a second and then start from the beginning."

She closed her eyes and took in a few deep breaths until she felt calmer. When she opened them again, she found herself staring straight into his. Letting out one last slow breath, she leaned in and kissed him softly once. "I didn't mean to say it like that, and that's not how I meant it."

"Okay." His thumbs brushed her cheeks. "Then why don't you tell me what you meant and what you wanted to say."

"Well, today when that stuff with Kaelie happened—"

He opened his mouth to speak, but Clary reached up and silenced him with a finger.

"Please, just let me get this out and then you can talk. If you interrupt, I don't know if I can say it."

He snapped his mouth shut and nodded.

With another deep breath, Clary continued. "Well, she said some stuff." Clary saw Jace's jaw clench but he remained silent, just as she'd asked. "She—she said that you would have certain . . . expectations . . . when it came to being—physical, and that there was no way someone as inexperienced as me could—could—fulfill those." She swallowed against her mortification and continued. "And that just got me thinking that . . . she's right. I—I don't know anything about any of that stuff, and I'm really not ready for anything like that anyway, and I just don't want you to be disappointed or—or . . ." she trailed off and lowered her head, shaking it back and forth.

"Can I talk now?" Jace asked softly after a minute.

Clary nodded without lifting her head.

"Look at me," he said.

Clary closed her eyes and raised her head, opening them slowly.

Jace's gaze darted over her face. "First of all," he brushed a few loose curls behind her ears. "Kaelie is a damn airheaded moron. She knows absolutely nothing about me and my 'expectations.' Second of all, do you have any idea what I feel for you? Any at all?"

Clary said nothing, just continued to stare at him.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to one corner of her mouth. "I love you." Another kiss to the opposite corner. "I'm in love with you." He rested his mouth against hers, his warm breath flowing over her face. "So much so that just thinking about you, looking at you, touching you, makes it hard to breathe. I would be the biggest liar on the planet if I said I didn't want you that way, because God knows I do. But more than that, I want you to want me like that too. And until you do, I'm in no rush. I will never, ever, pressure you to do anything you're not ready for, so please, please," he breathed, closing his eyes, "don't worry. I'm not going anywhere."

She reached up and grabbed his face, pulling his lips hard against hers. "I love you too," she said between kisses. "And I do want you. So badly it scares me, because I know I'm not ready for that. And the things she said, they just—"

He pressed his mouth against hers once more, silencing her. "She's an idiot, Clary. Please, don't give anything she said another thought. It means nothing. Her ideals on what relationships are and what sex is all about don't matter. It isn't me. It isn't you. It isn't us."

Clary sighed and kept her forehead flush with his. "I'm sorry I freaked out and said that. Total fail on my part. I don't know why I let her get to me. One point Kaelie, Clary zero."

He chuckled and ran his fingers over her cheeks. "I will admit, it took out a notch of my man-sized ego there for just a second, but it's nothing I can't overcome. God knows I have enough left over to compensate. And you aren't left with zero. You have me, and I have to be worth, what? Like a million points?"

Clary laughed and he smiled. "You're right; you definitely had enough ego left. Maybe I need to knock you down a few more notches?"

"Mmhmm," he mumbled against her lips. "I'd say you most definitely do, because I'm feeling all kinds of awesome after pulling my girl from the depths of a major freak out."

Clary twisted her fists tightly in his hair and grinned. "God, I love it when you call me your girl."

Jace wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her off the log to press her flush against him. "Well, that's what you are. What else would I call you?"

Clary didn't answer. She just leaned forward and captured his lips with hers. His embrace tightened around her, holding her even closer than she thought possible. After a moment, he released her and ran his hands down her back, ending at her waist. "So, what do you say we do that whole date thing this weekend?"

Clary glanced up and raised her brows? "Really? But, my mom says we have to double."

He reached up and tapped the end of her nose with his finger. "I've got it covered. Isabelle says she can get a date and we can go together."

"Okay! Do you have a plan? I mean, what do you want to do?"

"Hmm, I don't know. I've never doubled before."

Clary jumped up and bounced on the balls of her feet. "Ooh! I have an idea—if that's all right for me to say. I'm not sure what the rules for this whole date thing are. Am I supposed to let you choose since you're the man and all?"

Jace chuckled and stood in front of her. "What? Are we living in the dark ages or something? No, it's fine. Double dating is different from singular dating anyway. What's your idea?"

"Well," she drew her bottom lip between her teeth, "have you ever been paint bombing?"

He raised a brow. "No, I've never gone, but—you want to pelt me with water balloons filled with paint on our first date?"

Clary grinned larger, raised her brows, and nodded. "Oh my God. It's so fun! Jonathan and I used to go all the time. And it's so much better than paintball because it doesn't leave welts and bruises."

"Oh yeah, welts and bruises on a first date is probably not such a good thing." He laughed. "All right. I'm game—if that's what you want."

Clary reached up and twisted her fists into his shirt, pulling him down to her. "I do. I like playing around with you. And just to give you fair warning, I'm pretty good, so you better watch yourself."

He raised his hand to the back of her head and drew her even closer. "Somehow, that doesn't scare me in the least, Pippi. But, if that's how you want to play . . ."

"Oh, it's definitely how I want to play." She smiled.

"Well then, game on."

"Game on." She crashed her lips to his and threw her arms around his neck. Game on indeed.

.o.O.o.

"What the hell am I supposed to wear to throw paint balloons at someone?" Isabelle's voice screeched over the phone.

Clary pulled the handset away from her ear and grimaced. "I don't know, Isabelle. Something you don't care whether it gets ruined or not."

"What? I don't have anything like that?"

"You don't have an old pair of shorts or sweatpants and a t-shirt?" Clary asked. "Who doesn't have something like that?"

"You expect me to wear sweatpants on a date?" Her voice raised a few octaves.

Clary sighed and she pinched the bridge of her nose. "It was just a suggestion. You could wear an older pair of jeans—whatever. They give you a jumpsuit, but sometimes it isn't enough to keep your clothes clean." She paused. "Anyway, what does it matter? Aren't you just taking Simon?"

"Oh, like that's an excuse to look like crap? Come on, Clary. I wouldn't be Isabelle Lightwood if I didn't care about what I looked like?"

"Fine. Whatever." Clary pulled on a pair of holey jeans and an old gamer t-shirt Simon got her that she kind of wished would get ruined. "I gotta go finish getting ready. See you in a few."

Isabelle sighed. "Fine. I'll do my best to look like I don't care."

"Good. That's what I like to hear." Clary hung up the phone and picked up her comb, parting her hair down the middle and proceeding to braid each side. She glanced in the mirror and smirked at her appearance. Yes, she'd dressed in crappy clothes, but she knew the braids—while also done for functionality—would be a huge hit with Jace. He never could resist them for some reason. Not that she minded in the least.

Just as she finished admiring her work, the doorbell rang. She ran out into the hall and fumbled down the stairs. "I got it!" she shouted to her mother who was in the kitchen doing dishes.

When she reached the door, she flung it open and her breath caught in her throat. Jace stood in the entryway wearing a pair of dark jeans, which were frayed and tearing at the knees, and a faded black t-shirt. But as good as that looked, it wasn't what made her falter. On top of his head, he wore a backward-facing, tattered, black baseball cap. The ends of his hair curled up underneath the rim and stuck out slightly at the sides. Clary reached out to steady herself against the doorframe, heat rising to her cheeks over how a simple cap made her react.

"Hey," she said, her voice sounding weak and pathetic.

He grinned, adding to the overall drop-dead sexy effect he had going on. "Hey."

The slap-slap of flip flops filtered into the room as Jocelyn stepped into the foyer. "Hello, Jace."

He looked over to Jocelyn and nodded slightly. "Ms. Fray."

"So, where are you kids off to?" She forced a smile. Clary knew she was still leery about letting her date but appreciated her relenting regardless of her misgivings.

"Patriot Outdoors," Clary said as she stepped out the door to stand next to Jace.

"Oh?" Jocelyn came forward and occupied Clary's previous spot. "And," she stuck her head out the door, peered toward the Lightwood's house, and frowned, "who's going with you?"

Clary sighed, annoyed at the mistrust in her mother's voice. "Isabelle and Simon."

Jocelyn's brows rose. "Really? Are they dating now?"

Clary shrugged. "It's just as big of a surprise to me—though I'm not quite sure it's the same sort of date to Isabelle that it is to Simon."

"Hmm," Jocelyn said thoughtfully before taking a breath and flashing a genuine smile in Clary's direction. "Well, have fun, and—" her eyes flickered to Jace, "behave."

Jace's brows rose.

Clary bit back a giggle and nodded. "We will." She leaned forward and pecked her mom on the cheek. "Thank you," she whispered in Jocelyn's ear.

Jocelyn reached out and squeezed Clary's hand before letting go.

Clary grabbed Jace's then looked up at him. "Okay. I'm ready."

He glanced down at her and grinned. "All right." He looked back up. "Bye, Ms. Fray."

"Jocelyn," she said with a smile. "Call me Jocelyn."

He nodded again. "Jocelyn." Turning around, he led Clary down the stairs toward his car. "That wasn't so bad," he said as Jocelyn disappeared back inside and closed the door.

Clary stopped him just as they reached the passenger-side door of his car. "Okay, you've got to tell me. What's up with the cap?"

"What?" He reached up and fingered the fabric covering his head. "Don't you like it?"

"Like it?" she asked. "I think you about gave me heart fail back there. Do you have any idea how freaking hot that is?"

A large grin spread over his lips and he leaned down to her. "Are you saying I'm hot, Miss Fray?"

She narrowed her eyes. "You know you are. You don't need me to tell you that. I'm just saying that the hat adds to what's already there."

"Hmm," he said, tracing his finger along her jawbone and chin. "Well, maybe it's a little payback for the braids. You know what they do to me."

"Uh huh." She couldn't help but smile and wrap her arms around his neck. "So this was on purpose then?"

"No." Jace shook his head. "But it will be from now on." He pressed his lips to hers.

Clary giggled and kissed him back eagerly.

"Stop it." Isabelle's voice growled as she walked past them and wrenched open the passenger door, climbing in the back with a huff.

Jace and Clary broke apart and Clary sat in the passenger seat. Jace closed the door behind her and ran around to his side.

Clary whipped around and smiled. "Good afternoon, Sunshine? What crawled up your butt and died?"

Isabelle narrowed her eyes and turned toward Clary. "I told you, I don't like looking like crap for a date." She gestured to her faded jeans and t-shirt.

"I think you look fine," Clary said sincerely.

"That's what I told her," Jace mumbled as he pulled out of the driveway and started toward Simon's.

"Of course you two would think that," Isabelle spat. "You're both fashionably challenged."

Clary shook her head and grinned, looking forward. She reached over and grabbed Jace's hand. He entwined his fingers with hers and peered over at her, a crooked smile pulling at one corner of his mouth.

They all engaged in small talk on the way to Patriot Outdoors. Isabelle's mood improved significantly when Simon joined them, dressed like the gamer geek he was. Clary had to wonder if this wasn't a real date to Isabelle after all.

When they arrived and paid, they separated into guys and girls to change.

Clary pulled the gray jumpsuit over her clothing and zipped it up, rolling the legs and sleeves that were way too long on her. She grabbed the provided goggles and slipped them on as well, tightening the straps so they fit securely on her face.

"God, this is hideous." Isabelle stood in front of the mirrors and checked herself out in the gear.

Clary walked up next to her and stared at her own reflection. "Yep. But think of how much fun it will be to pummel both Jace and Simon with paint."

Isabelle's face brightened. "So true. All right. Let's do this."

"Now that's what I like to hear." Clary wrapped her arm around Isabelle's waist and both girls made their way out to the arena entrance.

Hooks lined the walls and small pouches hung from each. Clary grabbed one and gestured for Isabelle to do the same, then she filled it with balloons from a bin placed just next to the door. "This is for you to store a few balloons in. There are bins situated along the walls and behind each shelter for you to refill too."

"Okay." Isabelle took one and filled hers. "So, what do we do now?" she asked as Clary opened the door to the arena and looked around cautiously.

"Run," she said as she took off out the door, balloons whizzed over head, two nearly hitting her just before she ducked behind the shelter.

She turned to Isabelle and smiled. "See? Fun, huh?"

Isabelle glanced down at her suit, now splattered with pink, green, and purple paint. "Loads."

Clary laughed and sat down with her back to the shelter, rummaging through her sack and pulling out a few balloons. "At least you're not out at first hit here like you are with paintball. That's annoying."

"Come on, Pippi." Jace's voice rang out. "You gonna hide behind there all day?"

"You wish, Goldie!" she called back. "I just hope you're ready for this, pretty boy."

He was silent for a few moments, which actually made Clary start to worry about what he might be up to. And then she heard him from right above her. "More ready than you know."

She looked up just in time to see him smile from over top her barrier and toss a balloon down, hitting her right on the shoulder.

"Cheater!" she called and jumped out from behind her safety point. He laughed and jogged away. She pulled her hand back and threw several balloons in quick succession, all missing him.

"I thought you said you were good at this?" he taunted and threw two more, one hitting her leg and the other blooming a large purple splat right in the middle of her chest.

"Oh, you just wait."

He wiggled his fingers at her in a "come hither" motion and bit his lip. "I'm waiting, Pippi."

She laughed and took off toward him, only to watch him disappear behind a large rock structure. Luckily, because she was so small, she fit right between a narrow crevice and caught him just as he passed behind. Clary jumped up onto his back, grabbed a balloon from her pack and smashed it over his head. Drips of orange paint fell over his black hat and onto the tips of his golden curls.

Clary leaned over his shoulder, kissed his cheek, and whispered, "Gotcha," in his ear.

Jace reached back and grabbed her, pulling her over his shoulder and pressing her up against the rock structure, a large grin plastered on his face. "And now, I've got you." He quickly reached to his side, pulled out a balloon, and squeezed it over her head. Green paint exploded onto her hair, dripping over her goggles and cheeks.

Clary gasped and pushed against him, but he grabbed her arms tightly and crashed his mouth to hers. She knew he was just trying to distract her so she wriggled out of his grasp, reached to her side, and grabbed another balloon, smashing it into his chest and jerking away.

She laughed as she ran. "Catch me if you can!" she called over her shoulder.

She rounded the corner of another barrier, only to run smack into Jace's chest. Falling back, she landed with a thud on her butt. He grinned and crouched down in front of her. "Now, you didn't really think you could outrun me, did you? I'm a soccer player, Pippi. Running is sort of my thing."

"Who said I wanted to outrun you?" She drew her arm back and pelted him once more in the chest. A large grin stretched across her face.

"Well played, Clary. Well played." He leaned over and kissed her once more.

She grabbed the front of his jumpsuit and held him there. "Maybe I didn't want to outrun you, Jace. But you know what I do want?"

"What's that?"

She leaned in and whispered, "I want you to chase me."

With that, she jumped up and took off into the arena, dodging balloons from both Isabelle and Simon, with Jace trailing after her. She laughed as he gained on her and she knew that very soon, she'd slow and allow him to catch her.

.o.O.o.

When their time was up, Jace and Simon went back to the guys' changing room and slipped out of their jumpsuits, throwing them in the bin reserved for dirty ones near the door. Jace threw off his hat and ducked his head under the faucet, rinsing the paint from his hair. Grabbing a towel from the shelf, he rubbed it over his head and then ran his fingers through the wet locks. He glanced in the mirror, and once he was satisfied he didn't look like a total douche, he turned back to Simon who stood by the door ready to go.

They exited the changing room and met up with the girls near the front doors. Clary's hair was wet, like she'd tried to rinse the paint out, but streaks of green still colored the strands. Jace grinned and took her hand when he approached.

She smiled up at him. "That was fun, right?"

"Yes, very fun. Ranks as probably the best date I've ever had."

"Really?" She raised her brows and looked up at him.

"Yes, really."

She grinned even wider and clutched his hand tighter. The car ride home was much more animated than the one there. Isabelle apparently had forgotten about how much she hated what she'd had to wear and continued to ridicule Simon over how bad of an aim he had. He pretended to be miffed, but Jace could tell Simon had it bad for his sister.

Clary kept her hand in his the entire way home, rubbing small circles on the back of it with her thumb. He hadn't been lying when he'd told her it was the best date he'd ever been on. It was, but what he hadn't told her was that any time he spent with her was the best for him. He'd save that little tidbit for himself because he didn't want to sound like a totally cheesy asstard.

After dropping Simon off and saying goodnight to Isabelle, Jace walked Clary to her door. It felt awkward and strange even though it wasn't the first time he'd done it. But for some reason, this was different. The charge between them was different. Like, just the fact that their relationship was no longer a secret and that they'd finally done the "real date" thing, things were changed.

Clary climbed up onto the top step while Jace stayed on the ground. With their height difference, Clary stood just barely taller than him. He glanced up at her and smiled. Her eyes shone bright even in the dark.

"You look happy," he said.

"I am," she answered. "So happy. That was, like, the best day ever. I had so much fun."

"I'm glad. Me too."

Clary leaned down to kiss him, but he stopped her with a finger to the lips. She furrowed her brow and looked at him with confusion. He slowly climbed the steps until he stood in front of her at full height.

Raising his hand to cup her cheek, he said quietly, "I'm the man. It's my job to kiss _you_ after the first date."

Clary bit her lip and nodded, her eyes intent on his mouth. He leaned in slowly, his thumb pressing against her chin until she released her lower lip. She lifted her chin and closed her eyes in anticipation, parting her mouth slightly. Jace let his hand slide from her cheek to the back of her neck, pulling her closer until their lips touched. He sucked her lower lip between his and she opened more to him, letting him in. The flavor of cinnamon from her gum flooded his taste buds as she grabbed his face and slid her tongue into his mouth. He didn't stop her or slow the kiss because, damn it, she felt and tasted so good he couldn't stop himself even though he'd intended this to be a sweet kiss.

She pressed her body into him, fitting herself perfectly against him. All her curves molded with precision to his. A small groan worked its way out of his throat as she shifted against him and it took every ounce of his self control to pull away. He placed a few small kisses to her lips before resting his forehead against hers.

"I should go," he said.

She nodded but twisted her hands into the sleeves of his shirt as if she really didn't want him to. "Yeah."

He pulled back reluctantly, wanting nothing more than to stand there and kiss her all night. Her hands fell from him as she let out a shaky breath.

He smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow, birthday girl."

She grinned, clearly thrilled he'd remembered. "Okay."

He made his way down the stairs, turning only once when he reached the driveway to see her still standing on the porch, watching him walk away. With another smile, he turned back and crossed the yard until he ambled up the steps and quietly entered the house.

"No, we haven't told him anything." Maryse's whispered voice came from the adjacent room.

Jace furrowed his brows and tip-toed closer to the doorway, pressing his back against the wall.

"No, sir," she answered. "Michael was supposed to tell him. Yes, I realize he's been refusing to see him, but what would you have me do?"

Jace frowned. _Michael_? As in, his father, Michael? He turned his head to listen closer.

Maryse sighed. "I can't just make him go. Yes, I understand that—but—yes, sir. I know time is running out. You don't understand . . . he finally seems happy. I can't just—no, sir, I'm not questioning you." She sighed again. "Yes, sir. I'll make it happen. Soon. Yes."

"Jace, what are you doing?" Isabelle's voice rang out loudly from just behind him.

He jumped and whirled toward her. Frantic footsteps rounded the corner and Maryse's large eyes fell upon him and Isabelle standing just outside the doorway. Fear flashed across her face as she stared at both of her children.

"Jace, Isabelle, wh—what are you doing?"

He narrowed his eyes and looked dead into Maryse's. "Maybe that question would be better directed at you, Mother. What exactly is it that my father was supposed to tell me?"


	26. Birthdays and Betrayals

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

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_**Chapter 26: Birthdays and Betrayals**_

_Chapter Songs:_

_**It Is What It Is – Lifehouse _

_**Look After You – The Fray _

_**Independent Love Song – Scarlett _

_**Epic – Faith No More _

_**Your Love is a Song – Switchfoot_

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Jace gripped the neck of his guitar tighter than normal, the strings cutting into his fingers painfully. He'd come to his room to escape the explosive anger building in his chest. But once he'd arrived he couldn't decide whether to play or smash the guitar against the desk, watching as it exploded into a million tiny pieces. The latter sounded as if it would be a bit more satisfying to the beast clawing its way to the surface, but he'd paid a pretty penny for the instrument and didn't want to dip back into his fund to buy another. He was sure his mother hadn't intended his trust fund to be used to replace items he'd damaged while having a fit. He'd been lucky she'd set it up to allow him to tap into a portion when he turned sixteen in the first place.

Closing his eyes, he let out a deep breath and leaned his forehead against the hand holding his guitar. A knock sounded at his door.

"Jace, please," Maryse said, her voice conveying the hurt and regret she'd expressed to him earlier. But Jace didn't care. If she felt so sorry, she could just spit out whatever it was she was hiding from him.

"Leave me alone," he growled back, placing the instrument roughly next to the bed and climbing to his feet. He walked over to the window and stared out across the way. A dim light shone through the dark curtains hiding Clary's room from his view. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass and raised his palm, laying it flat against the pane. A very large part of him wished he was over there with her right then.

"If you'd just let me explain . . ."

Jace whipped around and moved toward the door, stopping just before he reached it and clenching his fists at his sides. "Explain what? How you can't tell me anymore? Because if that's it, then I'm really not in the mood."

"I told you I'd tell you if I could, but it isn't my place. This is between your father and you."

"He stopped being my father the moment he put a bullet into my mother and left me to fend for myself."

"Jace . . ."

He raised his hand and rubbed his forehead between his thumb and middle finger. "I'm really tired, Maryse. Of all of this." Jace knew the sound of him using her name would drive his point home. "Just . . . leave me alone."

He heard her sigh and whisper a soft, "I'm sorry," confirming the fact that she wouldn't give him any more information, before her footsteps receded. Jace lifted his hands and fisted them in his hair. His chest squeezed with the inclination to go after her, to let her apology stand, to try to understand where she was coming from. But he couldn't. Not this time. Too many people had withheld things from him in his life. Too much had been told to him in half truths and lies, and he was sick of not knowing anything about his own past, about the people who claimed to love him.

If things were so dire that his father was reduced to writing him pleading letters every week, why wouldn't someone just _tell_ him what was going on? Why did it have to be some big secret, something only his father could tell him? Didn't they understand how much he didn't want to see Michael? How could they not fathom that hearing his father's name alone made him feel as though he wanted to thrust his fist through a wall? With that violent of a desire just from a name, how much worse would it be if he were to see him? To look into the eyes of the man that gave him life and then basically took it away in an instant. It wasn't just that he didn't want to see Michael, he was afraid of what he'd do when and if he did. Would he freak out and lose all of the progress he'd made up to that point? It had taken him twelve years to open up to anybody. And now that he had, he really didn't want to lose that feeling. The one that told him he was someone worth something, no matter what he'd done in the past. That he was alive and breathing and capable of love. What if seeing Michael caused the walls to resurrect, to enclose his heart once more within layers and layers of hate, betrayal, and mistrust? He couldn't have that. Couldn't let this feeling go. He needed it, craved it.

No, he couldn't go. Not until he knew it wouldn't break him and return him to the unfeeling shell he had become. That wasn't the life he wanted. He wanted what he had now. A family. Friends. A girlfriend. People who understood where he'd come from and wanted him regardless. He may have been angry at the Lightwoods for keeping things from him, but he didn't hate them. He didn't feel the need to distance himself like he had at the previous foster homes. But that didn't mean he wanted to see or talk to them at that moment.

Another soft knock sounded at the door.

He groaned. "I told you to leave me alone. I don't want to hear your excuses anymore."

"It's me, you ass."

Jace sighed and moved to the door, twisting the lock and throwing it open. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, and glared down at his foster-sister. "Missing me already? It's only been a few hours since I graced you with my presence."

She scowled up at him, strode forward, and shoved him out of the way, crossing the threshold into his room. "Like I really want to be around you during one of your angst-ridden emo fits."

He closed the door and then crossed the floor, plopping down onto his back on the center of the bed. Throwing his arm over his eyes, he sighed. "Then what do you want, Isabelle? If you haven't noticed, I'm really not in the mood for sibling banter at the moment—no matter how ingenious we may be with our wit and sarcasm."

She grunted and lay back next to him, shoving her hip into his side until he scooted over. The action took Jace by surprise because Isabelle had never acted so freely around him before. Sure, they'd had their fun arguing back and forth, but never had she seemed comfortable enough around him to come into his room and just hang with him.

"I just wanted to see if you were all right. Now you're making me regret caring in the first place." She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.

Jace dropped his own arm and turned his face toward her. She lay staring up at the ceiling, her black hair pulled away and hanging over the side of the bed.

"You heard?" he asked.

"Some of it." She looked over, her eyes meeting his. "For the record, I think her not telling you freaking blows. You have a right to know."

Jace turned away from her, raised one hand, and rested it behind his head. "Yeah, well, apparently it doesn't matter what I have the right to know or not. She insisted my father tell me."

Isabelle scoffed. "Well, you know Mother. Once she thinks something is right she'll stick to it no matter how moronic it sounds to everyone else." She sighed. "Maybe you should just go. Get it over with."

Jace groaned and got up from the bed, making his way to the window once more. Clary's room was dark now. He placed his fist against the glass and stared out at the inky, star dotted sky. Closing his eyes, he lowered his head, resting it against the cool surface.

The creak of springs and a rustling of fabric sounded behind him, and then a warm hand rested on his shoulder. He felt his body stiffen at the contact against his will. But even so, Isabelle didn't remove her touch.

"You're different now, Jace," she said as if she could read every thought, every fear swirling around in his mind. "Everyone sees it. You shouldn't let the fear of reverting back to how you were stop you from learning the truth." And just when he was about to look at her with disbelief at the fact that she was being sensitive toward him, she added, "So quit being such a pansy-assed whiner and do something about it."

He turned to her and frowned. "And here I thought you were being all nice and sensitive, trying to make me feel better, and you have to go and ruin it with your big mouth."

She smiled widely and patted his shoulder rather hard. "That's what I'm here for. I'll leave my bill on your desk."

He rolled his eyes, waved her off, and went back to staring out the window.

"Why don't you just go over there?"

"What?" Jace asked absently, his eyes fixed on the dark window across from his.

"To Clary. I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

He sighed, hating the fact that his desire to be with her was so transparent. "Her mother would never let me in. It's almost midnight."

"God, you're so thick sometimes."

He furrowed his brow and faced her. "What are you talking about?"

Isabelle crossed the room, stopping only when she stood beside him. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed that ginormous tree planted between our houses and how its branches conveniently act as a connection between your rooms."

Jace was quiet for a moment before turning back toward the window. "I may have noticed."

"Uh huh." She patted his arm and leaned in, whispering in his ear. "I'll lock up, lover boy."

With that, she spun on her heel, her hair flying up and smacking Jace in the face as she made her way to the door.

"Jesus, Izzy. Watch the hair; you could put an eye out with that stuff."

She snorted and opened the door, looking back as she twisted the lock on the doorknob. A sly grin stretched over her lips. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." She winked and the door clicked shut behind her.

Jace chuckled and turned back to the window, contemplating whether he should take her advice or not. It was crazy, and if he got caught, could potentially end any allowed contact between the two of them. After a few minutes, he muttered, "Screw it," to himself, and slid the pane open. Stepping out onto the nearest branch capable of holding his weight, he turned back and slid the window down until it was opened only an inch. Before setting off once more, he let out a slow breath and prayed like hell he wouldn't fall off and break his neck.

.o.O.o.

Just as Clary's mind settled and the excitement of the day allowed her the chance to fall into slumber, a soft tapping pulled her back to consciousness. She yawned and stretched her arms over her head, rolling over and snuggling down into her blankets further.

Tap, tap, tap.

She opened her eyes, first one and then the other, sitting up slowly. Frowning, she got up and padded across the floor to the window. Pulling aside the curtain, she gasped at what awaited her. She held up a finger and whipped around to the door on the opposite side of her room. After twisting the lock she returned, threw back the curtains, and thrust open the pane.

Jace stared back at her, a smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth. "So I take it that means I can come in?"

She giggled, nodded, and held her hands out to him. He grabbed them and crawled through the open window.

Once he stood in her bedroom, Clary felt heat rise from her chest and pool into her cheeks. He wore only a white t-shirt and a pair of black soccer shorts, but even in those, she couldn't deny the desire she had to pull him closer, touch him, kiss him. With each day, those feelings grew and she found it harder and harder to manage herself with him. She didn't want to keep mixing her signals, but she couldn't help it. Her head told her one thing, her heart another, and her body something completely different.

Instead of acting on what she felt, she just stared at his chest, unable to meet his eyes for fear she would launch herself at him. She knew she had made her feelings about their physical relationship clear to him, and that he wouldn't push it. But she was more worried about her own self control because he looked oh-so-hot standing there in the dark with only the moonlight highlighting his features.

Clary swallowed, hard. "What are you doing here?" She finally glanced up, catching a glimpse of sadness in his eyes before he lowered his face.

"I don't know," he said quietly. "I just—" he looked up, "wanted . . . you."

"Oh." Clary felt her face grow even hotter.

"Not like that," he said quickly. "Well, not that I don't, but . . ." He glanced up and smirked. "Now I'm the one getting tongue tied at the subject."

Clary shrugged and smiled.

He stepped forward and took her hands, his eyes locked on them as he traced slow circles on her palms with his thumbs. Clary fought back a shiver. It amazed her what just that small gesture, the lightest touch of his hand, could do to her.

"What I meant to say was," his eyes met hers once more and the sadness Clary noticed before was magnified, "I just needed to be with you. To see you. That's all."

Clary reached up and ran her fingers along his cheekbone. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

He started to shake his head, but Clary stopped him by cupping his face between both her hands. "Don't tell me nothing."

"I wasn't going to," he said. "I just don't want to talk about it right now."

Clary studied him carefully, wanting so badly for him to let her in. "You sure?"

"Yes." Opening his eyes, he met her stare, holding it intently.

"What?" she asked, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his gaze.

He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something but the only thing that came out was, "Nothing."

"No, tell me what you were going to say."

He looked away, focusing on the far wall. "I just wondered if," he paused, "if I could stay . . . with you . . . for . . . a little while." Pulling his lip between his teeth, he closed his eyes once more and whispered, "Please."

Clary turned his face back toward her and lifted herself up on tip toes. She leaned forward and brushed her mouth against his so lightly she barely touched him. "Look at me, Jace," she whispered.

His lips parted and he let out a shaky breath before opening his eyes and peering into hers. She studied him carefully, taking in the pain and sadness he tried so hard to mask. Kissing him softly once more, she said, "Of course you can. Stay. As long as you want." She lowered her hands from his face and took his, tugging against him. "Come on."

He obeyed and followed her. She sat on the edge of her bed and pulled him down next to her, gesturing for him to slide to the middle. He did as she asked.

Clary moved to sit on her knees in front of him. She stared into his eyes, wishing she knew what was going on inside his head. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about whatever is bothering you? It's okay if you do."

He shook his head. "I'm sure. I just want to be here with you, with nothing else crowding my mind. Just you."

Clary nodded and scooted forward, positioning herself just between his legs. Her eyes stayed locked on his as she leaned forward, placing one hand on the comforter to either side of him. His chest rose and fell slightly faster than before, but he made no move toward her. The air around them felt charged and alive. Electricity bounced between their bodies, sparking against Clary's skin like tiny pinpoints of fire. She felt as it grew and grew, and her face flushed with the tension. Jace lowered his stare and reached out, running a finger the length of her arm, stopping at her hand and tracing a line along her knuckles.

"Jace," Clary said, a noticeable tremor in her voice. Not because she was scared but because whatever was happening between them was so strong, her entire body felt coiled and ready to burst. She leaned in, her lips so close to his she could feel his breath brushing her skin. "I don't ever want to tease you, and I know I told you I wasn't ready for some things, but sometimes . . . sometimes I . . . want to . . . do . . . other things."

He met her gaze and brushed a few stray hairs out of her face, tucking them behind her ear. "What do you want, Clary?"

She closed her eyes and shivered as his warm breath washed over her face. His fingers traced lightly against the skin of her cheeks until he cupped them between his palms. Opening her eyes once more, she focused on him and felt her face heat. She tried to look away, but he held her there, not letting her.

"Don't be embarrassed to tell me what you want. How will I know if you don't?"

"It's not so much that I'm embarrassed as much as I feel . . . bad."

His brows furrowed. "Why?"

She grimaced and leaned back, his hands slipping from her face. "Because it doesn't feel right for me to have all the say in what happens physically between us."

"You know I don't mind. And I can pretty much guarantee anything you have in mind I'm up for."

She met his gaze once more. "I know you don't mind, but it still feels wrong to me."

He reached out and took her hands with his. "Would it make you feel better if I told you what I wanted?"

She swallowed and nodded.

"Okay." Scooting forward, Jace leaned into her, touching his mouth to hers gently and pulling her bottom lip between his before releasing it. "I want to kiss you." He slid from her mouth to her jaw, leaving behind tiny, warm kisses as he moved along her skin to her ear. "I want to touch you," he whispered, running his hands lightly up her arms, causing goosebumps to rise on her skin and a shiver to shake her. "I want to hold you." Wrapping his arms around her back, he pulled her toward him. "Beyond that, I'm happy to wait for your cues." His lips brushed the flesh of her nearly bare shoulder as his hands ran over her back, up her neck, and cupped her cheeks. His mouth followed the same trail until it came to rest at her ear once more. "Now, tell me what you want, Clary."

Instead of answering, she reached up and grabbed his face, pulling it hard against hers. Her hands shook against his cheeks as she kissed him. When she finally pulled away, she whispered shakily, "I want to kiss you." She placed one to each corner of his mouth and a string of them along his jaw until she met his ear. "I want to touch you." Her hands left his face, trailed down his neck and chest then fell to his waist, her fingers inching up under the fabric of his shirt. She flattened her palms against his stomach and greedily drew them up over his abs and chest, bringing his shirt with them. "I want this off." She tugged on the material.

Jace froze for a fraction of a second before reaching back and grabbing the back of the collar of his shirt, tugging it over his head and throwing it across the room.

Clary inched forward even more, rested her forehead against his and her elbows on his shoulders, burying her hands in the hair on top of his head. "I want you to hold me so tight that I don't know where you begin and I end. I want you to kiss me until I forget my own name and I can hardly breathe. And I want your hands on me, your skin against mine."

He let out a shaky breath of his own, his muscles tensing under Clary's arms. "Clary . . ." His voice came out strained.

Clary brushed her lips back and forth against his, teasing as his mouth parted and his hot breath washed over her. "You asked what I wanted." She tightened her grip on his hair.

"Jesus," he whispered as his arms went around her, lifting her slightly off the bed and pulling her flush against his chest. His mouth crashed down on hers, swallowing her kisses as if they were the only thing in existence that would sustain his life.

Her hands fell from his hair and followed the lines of his shoulders and back, her fingers dancing over every sculpted, firm muscle. She wanted to feel him, every inch that she could. Every place their skin touched felt on fire, tingling and burning with a sensation so indescribable she could barely stand it. Her body craved more, more of his touch, more of him, just more.

Clary pulled back from his kiss, but only enough to rest her forehead against his. He let go of her and ran his hands up and down her arms as he left more soft kisses along her neck. She lifted her chin to allow him easier access and closed her eyes, her breathing fast and shallow. As awesome as that all was, she wanted more, she needed more.

"Jace," she whispered.

"Hmm?" His voice vibrated against her skin and caused a tremor to rip through her.

She lowered her hands to the hem of her shirt and grasped it in her trembling fists. "Can I . . .?"

He pulled back and looked down, his breath catching before he glanced back up at her, his eyes wide. "You don't have to do that."

"I know," she said, the nervousness she felt coming out clearly in her voice. "I want to. I want to feel . . . more."

His eyes stayed focused on hers and he released a breath she didn't know he'd been holding. "Okay."

She leaned forward and rested her forehead against his once more, shutting her eyes. "Will you do it?"

"Are you sure about this?" He sounded unsure himself.

She nodded. "I'm nervous."

Jace leaned in and kissed her gently, his fingers tracing a line across her cheekbones. "Don't be nervous, Pippi. It's just me."

She opened her eyes and stared into his, realizing he was right. It was just him, and there was no one on Earth she trusted more. "I know." Reaching out, she took both of his hands in hers and placed them at her hips where the hem of her shirt lay. She let go of them and cupped his cheeks, pressing her lips to his. "I trust you."

Jace kept his hands at her hips for a few more minutes as he kissed her and she felt her body relax. All the fear and anxiety washed away the longer his lips moved against hers. After a while, Jace pulled back from their kiss, met her eyes, and slipped his fingers up under the edge of the fabric, brushing against the bare skin of her belly. His touch stayed light and soft.

Clary kept her eyes locked on his as his hands splayed across her abdomen. She felt herself start to tremble once more and Jace stopped, his thumbs sliding back and forth along her ribs.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Do you want me to stop?"

She shook her head. "Please don't."

Jace moved his hands up a little further until the swell of her chest just barely touched the inner curve of his thumbs and forefingers.

"Clary . . ." His voice cracked as he spoke her name, and his eyes filled with what she could only describe as a mixture of fear and desire. "I don't know if . . ."

"Don't you want to?" She knew her own voice trembled, but this time it wasn't from fear, but anticipation, want, need.

"God, yes, I want to, but I just don't know if I should . . . I don't want you to do anything you don't really want, or that you're not ready for, just because you think I might want to."

Clary smiled and kissed his waiting lips. "I want," she said and slipped her hands under her shirt, placing them on top of his and slowly moving both up over her chest.

Her eyes closed just as Jace released a sharp breath, pushing out a string of curse words she'd never heard him say before. He felt so warm against her never before touched flesh, a shiver shot through her entire body. Without another thought, she reached up, pulling her tank top over her head and throwing it to the other side of the room with his. Glancing down, she marveled at the sight of Jace's hands, so big, so strong, touching her in a way no one had before. She felt no more fear, no shame, nothing but a peace and rightness to the feelings that had been coursing through her. This was right. They were right.

Jace dropped his hands slowly, trailing across her flesh, and looked down. Suddenly, Clary felt her face fill with heat and anxiety at the knowledge that he was seeing her, really seeing her.

"Is it—" she stammered. "Am I . . . okay?"

His head slowly raised, his eyes meeting hers. "Okay?"

Clary nodded, feeling self conscious again.

He glanced down again and then back up. "You're more than okay, Clary. You're beautiful. Perfect."

"Really?" she whispered, slightly embarrassed at her own self doubt, but no one had ever seen her before and she just didn't know how she'd rate.

"Really," he said as he slid his hand around to the back of her neck and pulled her forward. "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen—and I'm not just saying that so you'll let me cop another feel." He smirked.

Clary couldn't help but smile. "Do you have to be an ass right now? I'm kinda exposed here."

He nodded. "It helps when I act like one, doesn't it?"

"Yeah. Sickeningly enough, it does."

"See? I know what my girl needs."

Clary shifted, moving her legs to either side and straddling his. As she sat back down, his hands rose and ran up the length of her back.

"Is this okay?" she asked when she settled in front of him, lifting her arms and wrapping them around his neck.

He nodded. "More than okay."

She inched forward a little more, stopping when she sat directly on his lap. "And you'll tell me when it's not . . . okay?"

"Yes."

"Do you promise? Because I don't know and I need you to tell me."

"I promise, Pippi." He smiled. "Do you want me to swear with my boy scout's honor?"

"You were a boy scout?"

He laughed. "No."

"Then that wouldn't really mean much would it?"

He shrugged. "How about I just say 'I promise' and you take me at my word, okay?"

"Always." Clary tightened her grip around his neck, pressing herself flush to his chest, finally feeling his skin against hers. No barriers, just them, his warmth against hers.

He lowered his forehead to her shoulder, and she thrust her hands into his hair, holding him tightly to her. His lips found her collar bone and moved along it slowly, leaving behind small, wet kisses.

Clary pulled against the strands at the back of his head and he lifted his face to her, his eyes dark and wide. "Jace?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you," she paused, "touch me again?"

He closed his eyes. "God, I think you're trying to kill me."

Although he said the words, his hands obeyed her request and slid slowly up her sides until they reached her chest once more. Clary dropped her head back at the sensation of his touch and tightened her hold around his neck. His mouth brushed across her shoulder causing her breath to hitch and her body to tremble.

After a few moments, she moved her hands to his cheeks and guided his lips to hers, tracing her tongue along the bottom one until he opened to let her in. Once he did, she scooted even closer and he froze minutely before wrapping his arms around her. Clary held tighter to his hair, deepening her kiss. Jace let out a ragged breath, wrapped an arm around her waist and the other cupped the back of her neck. Gripping her tightly, he picked her up off the bed and flipped her onto her back. Clary hit the mattress and Jace hovered over top, his lips never ceasing their relentless pursuit of hers. One of his hands tucked underneath her and held her flush against his body while the other grasped at her hip, digging into her flesh as he continued to kiss her.

Clary couldn't seem to get enough of him. Her mind hazed over as her hands roamed his body, fingers ghosting over the hard lines of his back and shoulder, curling into him when she felt as though he might pull away. But he didn't, not then. His hand slid from her hip, slowly running up her side until it brushed the side of her chest once more. Her breath hitched involuntarily and he froze. She reached up and placed her hand over his, entwining her fingers with his briefly, letting him know she was all right and she wanted him to continue. He did.

After several minutes, Clary placed her hand against his chest and pushed. He moved back easily, stopping everything in that instant. He looked at her, worry etched on his face. She smiled, pushing harder against him until he lay on his back, confusion replacing the worry in his eyes. Clary climbed on top of him, stretching her body to span the length of his, every inch of her touching him in some way. She took his hands in hers and stretched them up over his head, staring straight into his eyes.

"You feel so good," she whispered, leaning down to kiss him once more, his taste flooding her mouth as he responded. "Too good, I think."

When she pulled away, he lifted his chin and kissed hers softly, his lips running along the underside and down her throat. She shivered.

"Maybe we should stop." He sighed into her skin.

She closed her eyes and nodded, but her hands told a different story as they released his and grasped his head, holding him against her. "But I don't want to."

He groaned and reached up, wrapping his fingers around her wrists and removing her hands from his hair. "Me neither. But, I think . . . I think I need to."

Clary dropped her head to his shoulder, burying her face into the crook of his neck and allowing a small whine to escape. His arms stretched around her back, holding her tightly against him. The steady beat of his heart pounded in his chest, the comforting sound echoing through Clary's ear. She smiled into his skin and snuggled in closer.

"Thank you," she said.

He laughed. "You never have to thank me for that, Pippi. It was my pleasure, believe me. I'm just sorry I had to stop."

She lifted her head, meeting his eyes. "Don't be." Stretching up, she placed a chaste kiss to his lips before resuming her previous position. "I'm glad I can trust you to tell me when you need to stop. I loved every second."

"Good."

After a few minutes of just lying there, Clary's breathing slowed into an easy rhythm. Jace moved one of his hands to her head, his fingers trailing through her hair.

"Stay with me," she murmured into his skin.

"Okay," he said, dropping a soft kiss to the top of her head.

She closed her eyes and felt as the world started slipping away. The darkness closed in around her, but this time she wasn't alone and she wasn't afraid of the dreams that may come. She was safe, secure.

Somewhere amidst the haze clouding her mind, pulling her deeper and deeper into unconsciousness, she heard his voice whisper softly, "Happy birthday, Pippi." And with that, she let go, falling into the sweet abyss, wrapped happily in her boy's arms.

.o.O.o.

_Streams of sunlight spilled from the sky, oddly highlighting the swing set on which Clary sat. She stared across the lawn toward the emerald sea of the cemetery. Patches of light stretched across its expanse and eerie mist billowed out, covering the ground. Clary's hand clutched the chain tightly as she swung, her feet scraping the dust beneath her. A soft rustling sounded to her right and the swing beside her moved as someone sat down. She didn't bother to look up, not really caring who it might be, her mind lost in thought._

_ "Nice day, don't you think?"_

_ The voice was familiar, painfully so. Clary lifted her head slowly, her heart pounding hard in her chest. She turned toward the voice, her breath catching when her eyes finally fell upon his face. She'd almost forgotten just how piercing his dark eyes were._

_ "Jonathan?"_

_ He smiled, the same laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. "You didn't think I'd forget your birthday did you?"_

_ Tears filled Clary's eyes, but she didn't dare blink for fear he'd disappear. "But you're . . . you're . . ."_

_ "Dead?" He raised one brow and turned to look at the cemetery, nodding his head. "Yeah. Bummer, huh?"_

_ Clary laughed in spite of herself. His voice sounded exactly the same._

_ Jonathan turned back to her and grinned once more. "It's good to see you laugh." He reached out and laid his hand on her face._

_ Clary gasped at the warm sensation on her skin. She closed her eyes, letting the tears spill over her cheeks, and reached up, grasping his hand and holding tight. When she opened her eyes once more, she was nearly blinded by the glow surrounding him._

_ "But how . . . why . . ." she sputtered._

_ "I told you. I wasn't about to forget your birthday. And I missed you." His smile faded as sadness filled his face and he glanced down. "I'm sorry for leaving. For making you so sad."_

_ "Are you really here?" Clary reached out and grasped his other hand, forcing his gaze to meet hers once more. "I mean, I know I'm dreaming. But are you really here?"_

_ "I'm really here."_

_ With a cry, Clary flung herself forward, wrapping her arms around her brother's neck, tears running freely. His arms tucked around her back and he stood, lifting her feet off the ground, just like he always had when they were kids. He swung her around and then set her down, patting the top of her head._

_ "I don't have long," he said. "I'm not even really supposed to be here now. I just needed to make sure you were okay."_

_ "Wait, what do you mean you're not supposed to be here?"_

_ He flashed her a sly grin and leaned forward, whispering, "I snuck out."_

_ Clary rolled her eyes. "Even in death you're still a trouble maker."_

_ "You know it." He winked. "A zebra never changes its stripes."_

_ A breeze rustled behind them and Clary could have sworn she heard whispers calling out from within it._

_ Jonathan sighed. "Times up, Clare-bear."_

_ The use of Jonathan's childhood pet-name for her made Clary's chest pang with grief. "Already?"_

_ "Sorry," he said and reached out to hug her once more._

_ She enveloped herself in his arms, breathing in his familiar scent and trying to commit to memory what it felt like to be near him once more. _

_ And just like he could read her mind, he said, "Just because you can't see me, doesn't mean I'm not still with you. I'm watching over you, baby sis. Always."_

_ Clary squeezed tighter, willing him to stay just a little longer. "Don't go," she whispered, her voice echoing through the air as the sunlight surrounding them faded away._

_ "Happy birthday, Clary." His voice sounded so far away and Clary could no longer see._

With a gasp, she bolted up in bed, her arms still tingling from his touch. Her heart pounded, and even though she felt a pang of sadness that he was no longer with her, a sense of peace washed over her, knowing deep inside that he really had been there. He'd really come to her on her birthday.

Suddenly, the memory of the night before flashed in her mind and she reached over absently, only finding cool, empty sheet. She looked to the side Jace had occupied and found a single flower—a miniature sunflower, her favorite—and a folded sheet of paper with her name scrawled across the front in his hand. She smiled and reached over, picking up the flower and twirling it between her fingers. Grabbing the note, she lay back on her pillow and opened it.

_Good Morning, Pippi,_

_ I'm sorry I wasn't here when you woke up. I didn't want to leave, believe me, but I don't think Coach would have been too thrilled if I told him I was late because I was too busy lazing around in my girlfriend's bed. He probably would have slapped me upside the head and called me a pansy-assed douche. Then again, maybe he would have high fived me or given me some other cliché male bonding gesture. Regardless, I couldn't hang around to find out, but if I could have stayed, I would have. It felt good waking up with you curled into my side and my arms wrapped around you—even if you did drool all over my chest._

_ Anyway, I just didn't want to leave you with an empty bed and no goodbye, so this note was the best I could do. I'll see you later at the game—unless you're not coming, but I know you wouldn't miss a chance to see me all uniformed up, so I'll anticipate seeing you there. Until then, I hope you have a fantastic morning, birthday girl._

_~Jace_

_P.S. You can thank the nerd-boy for clueing me in on your favorite flower. Is there anything he doesn't know about you? I'm thinking I should feel jealous, but I just can't muster up the ability to feel threatened by him. Wonder why?_

Clary couldn't stop the grin from stretching across her lips. Shaking her head, she reached over to her nightstand, grabbed her phone, and began typing a message.

_You're such an ass. ~C_

****She stood, stretched, and pulled on a pair of yoga pants before her phone buzzed.

_I wouldn't be me if I wasn't. Plus, you know you love it. ~J_

****_Loving you and loving you being an ass are two different things. ~C_

_ True. But I know you love me AND my ass, so you loving me being an ass is a given. ~J_

****_OMG! Why do I put up with you? ~C_

_ Because I'm stunningly attractive. Now, go enjoy your birthday breakfast and let me warm up before coach throws a hissy—though that might be fun to see. ~J_

_ Alright. Thanks for the flower and the note. Though, I would've rather had you. ~C_

_ I know. Me too. ~J_

****Clary sighed and flipped her phone closed. She pulled Jace's hoodie off the back of her desk chair, where she'd conveniently hung it after the last time he'd let her wear it and not returned it, and headed down stairs. She found her mother singing softly to herself in the kitchen, swaying her hips to the beat of the music coming from the radio as she flipped a giant chocolate chip pancake. It had always been a tradition with Jocelyn to make Clary and Jonathan their favorite breakfasts each and every birthday. Clary always loved the big smiley-face chocolate chip pancakes her mother had made since she was old enough to remember such things. She wasn't ashamed to admit she still loved them.

Sliding onto the stool at the island bar, Clary rested her chin on her hands and smiled at her mother's back. Jocelyn placed a pancake onto a plate, lifted her spatula to sing into it, and turned, nearly dropping the plate when she spied Clary sitting there.

"Jeez, Clary, you almost gave me a heart attack!" She set the plate down in front of Clary and rested her hand over her heart.

"That was quite amusing, Mom. Maybe you should come with us next time we go to Pandora on open mic night."

"Ha. Ha," Jocelyn said as she fetched the can of whipped cream from the door of the refrigerator. She held it out, her brows raised in question. Clay nodded and Jocelyn squirted out a smiley face onto the pancake. "I'm sorry about not doing the whole party thing this year . . ."

Clary took a bite and raised her hand, waving it in front of her face. "I'm glad. You know I hate parties anyway."

"Yeah, but it's your sweet-sixteen. Every sixteen-year-old girl deserves a party."

"I didn't want one, really."

Jocelyn sighed and took a seat next to Clary, her eyes falling to her lap and her hands nervously moving back and forth over the pocket of her jeans.

"Mom? What's going on?"

Jocelyn looked up, meeting Clary's gaze. "I have something for you, but I'm not sure how to give it to you."

Clary set down her fork and turned to face her mother. "What is it?"

Jocelyn let out a soft sigh and stuck her hand into her pocket, pulling out a small white jewelry box, holding it tentatively in her hand. She swallowed before she spoke. "I've been debating whether or not to let you have this for weeks now. I know it's meant to be yours, but I didn't know how you'd react." She looked up, studying Clary's face. "But I think maybe you're ready."

"Mom?" Clary asked, feeling a little afraid of what her mother was about to give her.

A small, sad smile pulled at Jocelyn's lips as she held out the box. "It's from your brother. He found it at a little shop when we traveled to the country to visit Grandma. Do you remember that trip?"

Clary nodded, unable to form a coherent response. Her eyes kept darting between Jocelyn's and the box she held out in front of her.

"He saw this and he said, 'This is so Clary.' And he had to get it for you."

Clary took the box carefully in her hand, holding it just around the edges, almost as if she was afraid she might break it if she held it too tight. What could he have seen that could have made him have to instantly buy it for her? And why didn't he give it to her earlier? That trip had been a month or so before the accident.

Taking a deep breath, Clary lifted the lid of the box. Nestled inside the soft padding lay a gaudy looking keychain with one of the Care Bears dangling from the ring. Clary snorted and raised her hand to her mouth, not knowing whether she wanted to cry or laugh. So, she did both. The Care Bears had been a long running joke between her and Jonathan since they'd both gotten addicted to old reruns of the cartoon on the _Classic Toons_ network. They spent each Saturday morning glued to the television, wondering what may await them in Care-A-Lot that day.

Tears fell in streams down her cheeks even though a smile graced her lips. "Thank you for giving this to me. I love it." She looked up and met her mother's tear-filled eyes. Reaching out, she threw her arms around Jocelyn's neck and they both cried into each other's hair.

It felt good to cry. To do it together when for so long they'd hidden their grief from one another for fear of inciting it on the other. But now, on this day, it wasn't about sadness and heartache. It was about healing. About moving past the pain and grasping the happiness that was within reach for both of them. Jonathan would always be gone, but they still had each other. They still lived and they both deserved happiness. It was what he would have wanted. What he always wanted, and finally, they were ready to give that to him.

Jocelyn pulled back and cupped Clary's cheeks, her eyes moving over Clary's face. "Happy birthday, sweetheart," she said before she pulled her back into a tight embrace.

Clary closed her eyes and buried her face into the crook of her mother's neck. "Thanks, Mom."

.o.O.o.

The shrill scream of the whistle pierced the air as the first half ended. Jace bent over, placed his hands on his knees and his breath came out ragged.

"Dude, those guys are brutal today. What'd you do to them?" Sebastian asked.

Jace raised his head, lifted an arm to swipe the sweat from his brow, and his gaze fell on the tall, dark haired center forward for the other team. Raphael. It was just Jace's luck that he'd be stuck playing against another one of Clary's unwanted suitors.

"He had a thing for Clary."

Sebastian raised a brow. "Who hasn't?"

Jace scowled and straightened up.

Sebastian raised his hands palm out in front of him. "Hey. Not me anymore."

Jace reached out and shoved Sebastian jokingly before both boys jogged to the sideline. He grabbed his water bottle and took a long drink while his eyes roamed the stands. After a few moments, his gaze fell on the one person he'd hoped to see. With a grin, he dropped the bottle and made his way over.

Clary stood and climbed down the bleachers until she stood against the fence at the bottom, looking down at where Jace waited.

"Hey," she said, a faint blush painting her cheeks.

"Hey." He smiled up at her. "When did you get here?"

"A while ago. Nice goal, by the way."

"Thanks." He cocked his head to the side and pursed his lips. "Do you feel weird about last night?"

Clary furrowed her brows. "No, why?"

Jace shrugged. "I don't know. You just seem a little . . . twitchy."

She laughed and looked down at her feet. "No. It's not that."

"Well, what then?"

She bit her lip and leaned forward. "You know how I get when you're wearing that." She gestured to his uniform. "And I really want to kiss you right now, but there are all these people . . ."

Jace glanced past her shoulder to the spectators occupying the stands before meeting her eyes once more. Deciding he didn't care, he jumped onto the ledge, curling his finger through the chain length fencing and pulling himself up. "Screw them," he said as he reached forward, cupping the back of Clary's neck and bringing her face to his, kissing her softly.

She smiled against his mouth before pulling back. "Please don't ever get rid of this." She twisted her hand in his jersey.

"You really do have a sick obsession with soccer players, don't you?"

"Only one."

Jace smiled and leaned in to kiss her once more when the warning whistle blew. He sighed. "I have to go."

"Yeah, all right. I'll just sit up here, enjoying the view and smiling smugly at all the girls wishing their boyfriends were the hottest ones out there."

"Yes, you've earned those bragging rights. Though I'm not sure you should be stroking my ego so effectively. My head's bound to burst one of these days."

"Hmm, we wouldn't want that now, would we?" Clary leaned into him, her forehead against his and her mouth hovering very close, but she didn't touch him with her lips.

Jace closed his eyes and licked his lips, drawing the bottom one between his teeth. "I honestly think you're trying to kill me."

"Never. But I just might reward you later."

He groaned quietly, secretly glad his jersey was untucked. "Damn it, Pippy. You can't go saying stuff like that to me when I have a game to play. Do you know how difficult it is to run in this condition?"

Clary giggled. "Sorry. I promise I'll behave. You know, you could always just think about Kaelie's annoying voice. That should help."

Jace opened his eyes. "That was not nice." He frowned. "Though surprisingly effective."

"I thought it might be." She kissed his waiting lips one last time and mussed his hair. "Now, you better go before your coach benches you." Lifting her chin, she gestured behind him.

He turned to see his coach's eyes locked on them. With a sigh, he nodded. "Okay. See you after?"

"Of course." she shrugged.

Dropping down, Jace made his way back to the sideline.

"Cute girl, Wayland," Coach said.

"Thanks," Jace said, mildly disgusted that his coach had been looking.

"Just keep your head in the game and not elsewhere. We clear?"

"Do I ever not?" He took another swig of his water.

Coach smiled. "That remains to be seen." He clapped Jace on the back. "Now get out there."

Jace jogged to center field, taking his place behind the ball once more. Raphael stood opposite him, his head cocked to the side and brows pinched together as he studied Jace.

"What the hell are you staring at?"

"Nothing. Just wondering how you managed to score with one of the most unattainable girls out there." He smirked.

"Wouldn't you like to know? Now, do yourself a favor and keep your mind on the game and off my girl before I wipe that smirk off your face."

"I'd like to see you try, Wayland."

The whistle blew and Jace immediately passed the ball off to Sebastian before shooting up through the middle, right past Raphael. Three defenders surrounded him, cutting off any chance for him to intercept the ball. Sebastian found himself cornered, unable to get out. His eyes rose to Jace's and he nodded.

Ducking down, Jace managed to squeeze past the defenders and race toward the sideline, the thundering of feet following him as he ran. Sebastian toed the ball into the air and jumped up, heading it out of his entrapment right to Jace as he rushed forward. Jace nudged the ball backward and caught it with his right foot, sliding it up the back of his calf and flicking it up with his left, causing the ball to arch over his head. Before it even had a chance to hit the ground, he kicked out sending the ball flying over the heads of the defenders rushing toward him and into the top right pocket of the goal.

The whistle blew once more, and Jace turned to make his way back to center field when he suddenly felt someone crash into him, sending him flying backward onto the ground. He landed hard, pain shooting up his side from where he'd been hit. For a moment, his breath caught in his chest but then came out in a large whoosh. Jace looked up. One of the larger defenders stood over him, a smirk on his face. The ref rushed forward, blowing frantically at his whistle and holding a red card over his head, waving it in the face of the other team member.

The defender looked down at Jace, smiled, and said, "Totally worth it." He turned toward the sideline and ever so discreetly, fist-bumped Raphael as he strode past.

Sebastian moved over to Jace, holding his hand out to help him up. "Hell man. I don't envy you right about now."

Jace groaned and reached up, pulling himself to his feet. He glanced over toward Raphael's sneering face and narrowed his eyes, the pain in his ribs still throbbing. Letting out a slow breath and trying to push back the pain, he started toward center field once more.

The rest of the game continued to be an all out bashing session on Jace. Luckily, his teammates realized what was going on and worked their best to protect him against the unfair onslaught. Unfortunately, by the time it was finally over, Jace had more aches and bruises than he remembered ever having before.

In an effort to quell the pain, Jace showered in the locker room, allowing the hot water to soothe his tired muscles and aches. Once he finished, he dressed quickly and made his way out. Clary waited against one of the posts underneath the bleachers, Sebastian keeping an eye on her while Jace cleaned up. It wasn't that he didn't think she could take care of herself, but with the treatment Jace just received, he didn't want to take any chances.

He walked up to them and Clary smiled. "Done?"

Jace nodded, his eyes finding Sebastian's, a word of thanks in his stare. Sebastian tilted his head forward slightly. "Well, I'm going to go get changed now. See you later, Clary, Jace."

"See you, Sebastian," Clary said to his back as he walked toward the locker rooms. She turned to Jace, her smile slipping from her lips. "What was going on out there today?"

Jace reached over and took her hand, leading her toward the parking lot. "A soccer game. What else would we do at a place like this?"

"Don't be a smartass. You know what I mean." Clary halted and tugged his arm until he stopped too.

Jace turned to her and sighed. "Nothing. Just guys being guys. It's no big deal."

She narrowed her eyes and reached forward, pulling his shirt up to expose his side. A large purple bruise was starting to form over his ribs. "Oh really? That's nothing?"

Jace frowned and tugged his shirt back down. "Yes. It's part of the game."

Clary rolled her eyes and stalked forward, leaving him to trail behind her.

"I don't know why you act all concerned. I'm sure Jonathan was bruised up sometimes. It happens in sports."

"Yes, Jace, it does. But Jonathan never had an entire team's whole focus be on slamming him into the ground. I don't understand what it is about you that incites so much violence in others."

"What can I say? I'm special. I thought you already knew that."

Clary stopped and turned toward him, her mouth opened like she wanted to say something, but all that came out was a frustrated cry and she whipped back around.

"Clary, wait—" Jace started, but stopped when a recognizable figure stepped out from the shadows and grabbed Clary by the arm.

"Yes, Clary, wait." Julian mimicked Jace and sneered down at Clary.

Clary jerked her arm, but Julian held tight.

"Going somewhere?" he asked her.

Anger exploded in Jace's chest. "Get your hands off her."

Julian looked up at him. "Who's going to make me? You?"

"You're damn right I will." Jace threw his bag to the ground and started forward, only to find himself caught by two other guys, one on each of his arms. Jace looked to each side, and pulled his arms against their hold, but it was no use, their grip was unmovable. He looked up just as another figure moved in from the shadows. Raphael. Jace groaned. "So now you two are buddies, huh?"

"Buddies?" Julian looked genuinely surprised and then recognition crossed his face. "Oh, you mean, Raphael?" He laughed. "No. Raph and I are cousins—well, step cousins."

"What the hell do you want with us?" Jace asked, still struggling against his restraints.

Julian's eyes turned hard. "I want what should be mine." He pulled Clary hard against his body. She yelped and pushed against him, trying to free herself from his grasp, but it was no use. "I claimed her first."

Jace released a contrived laugh. "Claimed her? Is that what you call drugging her?"

"Some girls need a little help to loosen up."

"You tried to take her against her will, just like now."

Julian turned back to Clary, wrapping both hands around her biceps and holding her up against his chest. Jace could see her arching away from him as far as she could considering the situation. "Against your will? Is that what you told him, baby?" His nose traced along her jaw.

Clary shuddered and looked away. Jace pulled again against the two holding him.

"Did you tell him about how I held you close to me all night? How your body molded to mine so perfectly."

"We were dancing. That's what happens when you dance."

Jace heard the tremor in her voice as she spoke and knew she was scared. He wanted to make her feel safe again, but he couldn't do that being trapped as he was. Lifting his foot, he kicked back, swiping the leg of one of the guys behind him. His grip loosened enough for Jace to almost wriggle free before the guy caught hold of his arm once more, griping it even tighter than before.

Julian looked up and narrowed his eyes. "Take care of him," he said to Raphael.

Raphael grinned and stepped in front of Jace. "With pleasure." He swung back and released his fist into Jace's stomach.

Jace coughed and leaned forward, his breath catching as he tried to breathe in but he couldn't draw in enough air. He heard Clary yelling something, his name maybe, but he couldn't be sure with the roar of blood and rage filling his mind. Raphael drew back once more, but Jace had enough time to tighten his abs and deflect most of the hit—not that it didn't still hurt. After a few more stomach hits and an extremely painful rib shot, Jace heard Clary pleading with Julian.

"Stop, just stop, please."

Jace looked up, his anger tripling when he saw Clary's wide eyes and Julian's arms wrapped around her.

"What are you going to do for me if I stop it, sweetness? Hmm?"

"Clary, don't," Jace said, just as Raphael lashed out with another rib shot. He groaned and wobbled on his feet as the pain radiated across his throbbing ribs.

"What's he worth to you, baby? Huh? How about," Julian paused and a sinister smile spread across his lips, "a kiss? That's easy enough, right?"

"Damn it. Leave her alone, you bastard!" Jace spat, earning himself another punch to the stomach. He drooped forward, coughing and gagging against the blood coming up into his mouth. Looking up, he met Clary's eyes and shook his head, wanting her to know that no matter what they did to him he didn't want her to sell herself out to Julian.

Clary's eyes hardened and she turned back to Julian. With a look of determination, she took in a breath and spat right in Julian's smug face. "I wouldn't kiss you if you were the last man alive."

Jace smiled and Julian closed his eyes as the spit trailed down his face. When he opened his eyes again, a look of defiance crossed his face and he thrust forward, crashing his mouth to Clary's. She let out a screech and struggled against him, but he just held her tighter. Jace pulled against his captors once more, so hard he felt as though he was tearing something in his arms. He roared in frustration as he watched helplessly while Julian tried to kiss his girl.

Clary never ceased in fighting back and finally opened her mouth enough to latch onto Julian's lip with her teeth, biting down hard enough to cause him to yelp and loosen his hold. With that, Clary took advantage of his distraction and brought her knee up into his groin as hard as she could. Julian yelled out and stumbled back, freeing Clary completely.

"Go!" Jace managed just as Raphael's fist connected with his cheek.

"No! I'm not leaving you!" she yelled back and launched herself at Raphael, clinging to his back and pounding her fists against him.

With a frustrated cry, he thrust her off him and onto her back where Julian promptly pounced on her. She screamed as he climbed on top of her and grabbed her wrists, holding them on either side of her head.

"What the hell is going on here?" Sebastian's voice came from off to the side.

Jace turned toward the sound and found Sebastian, along with five other members of his team coming toward them. The two guys holding Jace released him immediately and he fell to his knees, unable to hold himself up any longer. He gasped for breath and hunched over, coughing up blood and spitting it into the grass.

A scuffle ensued around him, but he couldn't find the energy to lift his head. Shouts and cries and fists against skin filled the area. Soon, a soft hand touched his back and fiery red curls formed a protective curtain in front of his face.

"Are you all right?" Clary's trembling warm breath fanned over the skin of his neck.

He glanced to the side and met her eyes. They were wide and frightened. He nodded and she reached forward, running her thumb over his lip and whipping away the blood smeared on his mouth. "Are you?"

She nodded in return and took in a shuddering breath. "I thought they were gonna . . . God . . ."

Jace straightened up, ignoring the protests in his ribs, and reached forward, cupping her cheek. "It's okay." He turned toward the fight ensuing around them and saw all of Julian's posse lying on the ground, bloody and bruised. "I think it's just about over. Although, I'm a bit peeved I didn't get a shot in." Turning back to her, he grinned. "Though I must say that you, Pippi, were amazing."

Her cheeks turned a vibrate shade of crimson and she looked down. "I'm sorry about all this. I know it's my fault and—"

Jace silenced her with a finger to the lips. "It's not your fault that he's a douche of the highest order. But I do think it's time to report him, don't you?"

She nodded and stood, holding her hands out to him. "Can you stand?"

He reached up and took her palms, wincing as he got to his feet. Clary wrapped her arm carefully around his waist and he draped his over her shoulder.

"Let's go home," she said.

Jace nodded and brushed his lips on the top of her head. "Just one thing before we go," he said as they walked past where Julian lay. Leaning over him, Jace said, "This is the last time I'm going to tell you to stay away from Clary. I'll be ready next time and you won't have the chance to touch her again." With that, he drew back his foot and buried it into Julian's side, earning himself a loud groan. Smiling, he turned back to Clary. "Okay, I'm ready now."

She shook her head and started leading him toward the parking lot. "Boys."

.o.O.o.

When Jace and Clary arrived back at the Lightwood's, the house stood dark. Clary led Jace up the stairs into the bathroom.

"Sit," she ordered and pointed to the toilet.

Jace closed the lid and sat down, grimacing against the pangs in his side and the throbbing in his head. Clary opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out some cotton balls, bandaids, peroxide, and antibiotic ointment. She walked over to where he sat and knelt down in front of him, her eyes catching his.

"Take off your shirt," she said quietly.

He smirked. "You just love getting me shirtless, don't you?"

She narrowed her eyes and then grinned. "Shut up and do it."

He chuckled and reached up to remove his t-shirt, groaning at how stiff he felt. Sensing his discomfort, Clary grabbed the hem, pulling it over his head for him. Once it was removed, she gasped and her eyes grew wide. Jace looked down and caught sight of what caused her reaction. Across both sides of his ribs and trailing up onto his chest were a smattering of large purple bruises.

"God," Clary whispered, touching a finger lightly to his skin.

He bent down and rested his forehead on the top of her head. "I'm all right."

She looked up, uncertainty in her gaze. "Are you sure? Maybe we should take you to the hospital. I mean, something could be broken."

Jace traced her cheeks with his fingers, meeting her eyes. "I've had worse."

Clary closed her eyes and lowered her head, leaning forward and brushing her lips against each and every bruise. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Jace cupped her cheeks and moved her face until she looked up at him once more. "It's not your fault."

"Yes, it is. He did this to you because of me."

He leaned forward and touched her lips with his. "Stop it."

"But I don't want you hurt because of me."

"Clary, I would die for you. Don't you know that?"

Her breath caught. "Don't say that."

"Why? It's true."

She let out a shaky breath. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Jace watched while Clary swiped the peroxide soaked cotton ball across his cheek, wincing when he did, and covering the cut with antibiotic then gently pressing a bandaid over it. She handed him two pain relievers and a glass of water then stood. "There."

"Thank you," he said as he rose from his seated position. Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her softly and then leaned his forehead against hers. "Come on. I have something for you."

She raised her brows but didn't speak as she followed him out of the bathroom and into his room. He gestured toward the bed. "Sit."

Clary did as he asked, and he walked to his dresser, opening the top drawer and pulling out the small velvet bag he'd placed there earlier. A flurry of nervousness flowed through him as he turned back to her. He'd never given a girl a gift before and didn't quite know how to go about it. When he reached her, he knelt and looked down at his hands. He swallowed against his anxiety.

"Ever since you told me it was your birthday, I've wracked my brain trying to figure out what to give you." He looked up and gave her a small smile. She returned it. "I don't believe in giving gifts just because. I feel like they should be significant. That they should mean something, not only to the receiver but also to the giver." He swallowed again and loosened the tie on top of the bag. "I thought this would do that for both of us."

Tipping the small bag upside down, he emptied the contents into his palm. A small bi-colored charm bracelet sparkled against his hand. Clary gasped and Jace grabbed a hold of the end, pulling it up and reaching out for her with his other hand. He wrapped the tiny chain around her wrist and clasped it carefully, twisting it so the small heart with the letter "C" sat on top.

With his eyes trained on the bracelet, he whispered, "It was my mother's. Her favorite."

Clary raised her hand to cover her mouth, tears glistening in her eyes. "Jace, you don't have to—"

"I want to," he said and scooted forward, placing his hands on her hips. "I remember her telling me about how much she loved it. That it was a gift from my father and her most favorite thing in the whole world." He raised his eyes to hers. "You're my most favorite thing, Clary. And she would have loved for you to have it."

Tears spilled over her cheeks and she ran her fingers along his jaw. "You're my most favorite thing too. Thank you. I love it."

"Good." He grinned.

Clary moved her hands to his hair, twisted her fingers in it, and pulled him forward, capturing his lips with hers. "I love you. So much."

Jace kissed her back, his fingers digging into her hips and pulling her forward and off the bed with him. Just then, his door slammed open and Isabelle stood in the doorway, her face pale and breath ragged.

Her eyes fell to Jace's bruised abdomen and widened with disbelief just as Clary thrust his shirt back at him.

"I—I'm sorry for—interrupting, but Jace, you really need to come downstairs."

He pulled the shirt over his head and stood. "Izzy, what's going on?"

"Just—come." She disappeared through the door.

Jace looked at Clary and grabbed her hand, leading her out the door and down the stairs. Voices filtered into the hall from the living room area. Jace frowned and stepped into the room, his heart dropping into his stomach at what awaited him. Several people he didn't know, all dressed in black with guns strapped to their hips, along with Maryse and Robert, surrounded another man dressed exactly the same—this one he knew well. The man turned, and Jace's eyes widened as his grip on Clary's hand tightened, his chest squeezing against his already sore ribs.

The man smiled, a look of relief crossing his face. "Hello, son."


	27. Truth

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

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_**Chapter 27: Truth**_

_Chapter Song:_

_**A Beautiful Lie – 30 Seconds to Mars_

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Tension hung thick in the air, filling every available space with uncomfortable pressure. Clary's eyes swept over the room, seeing everything in perfect, vivid color, but her mind couldn't seem to comprehend just what it was she saw. Seven armed men formed a perimeter around a tall, dark-haired, muscular man with thick eyebrows and piercing green eyes. Maryse stood next to the man, worry lines creasing her brow. Robert was situated to her side, looking cool and collected as always.

The man in the middle stepped forward tentatively, his face morphing into an expression of relief. "Hello, son."

Son? _Son?_

Jace's grip on Clary's hand tightened, the muscles in his arm growing rigid and immovable. A dull pain shot up her arm from where he clutched her hand, but she didn't try to remove herself from him. The way his body reacted to this man, stiffening and setting itself immediately on the defensive, made Clary freeze in her spot. Jace didn't speak, didn't move. Clary felt a nearly indiscernible trembling of his hand. She didn't know what was going on, but she wanted to do what she could to calm him nonetheless. Bringing her other hand up, she laid it on his forearm, swiping her thumb back and forth against his skin. His grip lessened slightly.

The man's brow rose, and he spoke over his shoulder, never removing his gaze from Jace. "Is this the girlfriend?"

"Yes," Maryse answered, not a trace of emotion in her voice, though Clary could have sworn it shook a little.

The man cocked his head to the side and grinned at Clary. Jace reacted immediately, releasing her hand and shoving her roughly behind him, shielding her with his body. "Stay away from her." His voice was rough and so filled with anger it almost scared Clary.

Placing her hands on his waist, she stood on tip-toes to peer over his shoulder.

The man held up his hands as if in surrender and took a step back. "Don't worry, I won't touch her."

Jace spoke. "You're damn right you won't. I would break your arm before you had a chance."

Maryse sighed and moved forward. "Jace—"

Jace's head whipped in her direction. "Don't you talk to me," he said icily. "You gave up your right to speak to me the moment you uttered your first lie." He turned back to the man. "As for you, I would have thought my silence spoke volumes as to my desire on whether or not to see you, but I can see you disregarded that. Not that I'm surprised. Respecting someone's wishes seems a bit unimportant in the grand scheme of things to a lying, abandoning, murdering _bastard _like you."

"Son . . ."

"Don't call me that!" Jace said, pausing to draw in a breath. When he spoke again, his voice was low and collected. "You don't get to call me that, ever."

"All right. All right," The man said. "I understand—"

Jace laughed. Not a happy, "hey that's funny," sort of laugh, but a pained, menacing one. "You understand, do you?" His voice turned scarily calm and he shook his head. "No, I don't think you do. I don't think you can even imagine how I feel right now. Do you know how long I've worked to block you and that night from my mind? Do you know what I've been through because of you? And not just the things I've had to endure, but the things that I see in my mind every night when I close my eyes. The images that are burned into my brain and no matter what I do, I can't get rid of them. The blood that you spilled, that you _took_ the moment you killed my mother, has soaked into me and tainted me forever. I will never, ever be okay because of you. So, do _not_ tell me you understand, because you don't. You don't understand a damn thing about me."

A stifled sob sounded behind Clary, and she remembered Isabelle was there and didn't know anything about Jace's past. From the expression on Maryse's face, the sound seemed to remind her of the same thing because she stepped forward and placed her hand on the man's shoulder. "Michael, the girls."

He sighed and swept his hand forward. "Escort them out."

Two of the armed men left the circle and started toward Clary and Isabelle. Clary gasped and Jace pulled her closer to his body.

"I told you you weren't touching her, and that goes for your goons too."

Clary motioned to Isabelle and she rushed over to them, tucking herself behind Jace and into Clary's side.

"Then they'll have to leave of their own accord." Michael stared at Jace intently. "There are things we must discuss. Things of great importance that would be . . ." His eyes moved to Clary and Isabelle. "A great disadvantage for them to hear."

"Are you threatening them?"

Michael took a few more steps forward and Jace wrapped his arms back around Clary, his fingers digging into her sides as he drew her closer. Isabelle clung to her back.

"As much as you may not believe it now, the threat doesn't come from me. Please, let me explain, So—Jace."

"Why should I trust anything you say?"

Michael shook his head. "You shouldn't, but at this point you have no choice. Your life—" he lifted his chin and gestured to Clary and Isabelle, "their lives depend on what I'm about to tell you, and the less people who know, the less that are in danger."

Time seemed to stand still around them. Clary's heart pounded in her chest, not understanding in the least what was happening. Wasn't Jace's father supposed to be in prison? How was he here—with a gun no less? What was it he needed to tell Jace so badly that could be a threat to all of them? Questions swirled through her mind, but no inkling of an answer was offered. After what seemed like forever, she felt Jace shift slightly in front of her.

"Fine," he said. "But you and your—whatever—are not touching them."

Michael nodded and Jace turned around slowly.

Clary's breath caught at the look in his eyes. Gone was the sadness and vulnerability from before. Gone was the sparkle and humor that had accompanied his stare for weeks now. They were dead, lifeless, empty. The same as they'd been when she'd first met him. Before he'd let himself feel, before he'd opened his heart and let her in.

"Jace . . ." she said, wanting so badly to see something, anything in his golden stare. But there was just nothing. Not a hint. Not even a flicker.

"You need to go, Clary," he said, his voice flat and devoid of any feeling.

"But—"

"Now," he said. "And take Izzy with you."

She opened her mouth to protest, when he furrowed his brows and finally a flash of emotion danced through his eyes. He leaned into her, lowering his voice to a whisper, "Please, Pippi. I can't stand to think of what might . . . what could . . . just, _please_."

Reaching up, she cupped his cheeks and touched her forehead to his. "I'm scared. I don't want to leave you with them." Her eyes darted to Michael's and back to his. "He said this is dangerous. What if—"

Jace placed a finger to her lips, silencing her. He closed his eyes and breathed out. "That's why you need to go." He pressed his lips to her forehead, opened his eyes, pausing for only a moment before pushing her away from him toward the door. She knew he didn't do it to hurt her, that he didn't want this any more than she did, but that didn't stop the wave of helplessness and pain from crashing over her.

"Get her out of here, Izzy." His voice cracked slightly before going flat once more. "Now."

Clary stumbled back into Isabelle who grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the door. "Come on Clary." Her voice trembled. "We have to go. Come on."

Looking up at Jace, she couldn't mask the fear and betrayal in her eyes. She didn't understand what was happening or why she couldn't stay with him, danger be damned. She wanted to protect him like he always tried to do for her. But the look on his face told her everything she needed to know. No matter whether she wanted to stay or not, he wouldn't let her.

Just as Isabelle managed to pull her through the open doorway, she saw Jace close his eyes and inhale deeply before opening them once again. To her complete horror, she watched the blankness return, every facet of the boy she knew, the boy she loved, disappeared in an instant, only to be replaced by nothingness. A cold, hard, unfeeling void. The same empty space he'd been lost in for twelve years. He had allowed it back in, to cover everything that made him who he was, that made him everything that mattered in her world. It was all gone. Her Jace was gone.

.o.O.o.

The instant the door shut behind Clary, Jace buried himself deep inside where he'd hidden since the day his mother died. It was the only thing he could think to do in order to protect himself from whatever it was his father wanted. He didn't want to do it, and he hoped like hell he could bring himself back out again, but at the moment, it was a necessity.

He turned back to the group, meeting his father's eyes once more. God, he couldn't believe this was happening. How was this happening? Looking at this man brought back so many memories, some good, but mostly ones of that night, which was definitely not something he wanted to think about. The pain and anger moved within him, clawing at his insides and shredding everything he'd worked so hard to build back up after the last time his father had destroyed it.

"So you've got me here." Jace crossed his arms over his chest. "You may as well tell me what you wanted to tell me—since you went to so much trouble and all to get out of prison to come here."

Michael sighed and ran a hand through his hair, turning to the rest of his group. "Do you mind if I speak to him alone. I think this might be easier without an audience."

Maryse's eyes darted between Michael and Jace. When they met Jace's he turned away. He couldn't bear to look at her, knowing she knew this was going to happen. She knew everything and had hidden it from him, lied to him for years. He didn't care if it was for his own good. He didn't care if she thought she was protecting him. She was his mother. The only one he really remembered and she'd betrayed him. He didn't want to look at her, to see the love and regret in her eyes, because he couldn't even be sure if that wasn't an act as well as everything else. Nothing made sense anymore. He wondered if there was any part of his life—aside from Clary—that wasn't a blatant lie.

Maryse sighed and lowered her head. "Of course," she said, and followed silently behind the group of men as they left the room.

A tightening started in Jace's chest as he stared down the man who had abandoned him so many years before. The man who had destroyed his life, who had taken away the future he'd been entitled to. Michael stared back, almost as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. His face filled with an awe Jace didn't understand, one he wasn't sure he wanted to understand.

Jace let out a frustrated breath, his body still fixed into a stiff, warning position. His muscles were starting to ache from being so tightly clenched, but he wasn't about to release them and let them relax. He needed to look strong, to look threatening, because on the inside he felt anything but. "So are we just going to stand here staring at each other all night or do you have something you want to say?" he asked, done with the whole menacing looks phase of the conversation. He just wanted this over with and his father gone.

Michael sighed and held out his hand, almost as if he wanted to touch Jace. He opened his mouth and closed it again before turning slightly and gesturing to the couch. "Maybe you should take a seat."

"I'm fine right where I am, thanks."

Michael chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. "You're stubborn, just like your mother."

Jace felt his face heat with rage. "What makes you think you have the right to talk about her?"

"Because she is a big part of the reason we need to talk."

Jace laughed humorlessly. "Oh, right, because you murdered her." He cocked his head to the side. "How the hell did you manage to escape from prison? Did your big bad group of crazies in there break you out?"

"No," Michael said, his eyes intent on Jace. He paused. "I really think you should sit."

This time, Jace couldn't hold back his anger. "Stop telling me what to do! Just spit out what you have to say. I'm tired of these games, of your cryptic letters. Just tell me already."

Michael lifted his hands and then dropped them to his side. "Fine." He glanced at the wall, took in a breath, and met Jace's eyes once more. "No. I did not break out of prison."

"So, they let you out?"

"No."

Jace furrowed his brow in confusion.

Michael sighed and raised his hand to rub his forehead. "I didn't break out and they didn't let me out, because I never went in the first place."

Jace's eyes widened, his brain unable to comprehend what he'd just heard. "What?"

Michael's gaze met his. "I never went to prison, because I wasn't the one who killed Celine."

Jace felt as though the floor had fallen out beneath him. His legs wobbled and threatened to give out. Michael stepped forward, but Jace held out his hand, stopping him from coming any closer. He felt the wall hit his back and he leaned against it for support. "Yes, you did. I was there, I—"

"You what?" Michael asked.

"I—" He wanted to say that he'd seen it, that he knew without any doubt that his father was the one to pull the trigger. But he couldn't say that because he hadn't seen it. Everything pointed to it. Everything. The fight his parents had had just before. He could still see the fear in his mother's eyes, hear the panic in her voice, though he couldn't make out the words. He could feel the trembling in her hands as she hid him behind the thick blue curtains. Her screams still echoed through his mind and the scent of blood permeated his senses, bringing him right back to that moment. He closed his eyes, trying to ward the sensations away, trying to make himself focus on the here and now and not on the past. He couldn't get lost there. Not now. Not when he needed to stay strong, to fight, not only for himself but also for his mother. He had to defend her honor, to stick up for her when no one else had. When the one man she'd trusted with her life had betrayed her. His eyes snapped open and anger flooded his veins. "You're a liar. I don't know what you're trying to pull, but I was there. I heard everything. I saw you hovering over her covered in blood. I _saw_ you."

"Yes," he said. "You did. But you didn't see me kill her. You couldn't have because I didn't do it."

Jace shook his head, memories assaulting him left and right, filling his mind and overtaking his senses. He wanted to stop it. He_ needed_ to stop it before it drove him over the edge. An edge he hadn't seen in a long time because he'd effectively built up the walls around him, keeping it at bay. But now that he'd torn those walls down, there was nothing there to protect him, and he fell. Spiraling down into the abyss he'd fought so long and hard to avoid. The pain took hold of him, squeezing against him and filling his heart with burning, cold ice. It was no use; he couldn't hold it back any longer.

_"I love you, baby. Stay quiet. As a mouse, okay?"_

Jace felt his body start to tremble and nothing he did could force it to stop as his mother's words shouted in his mind. He couldn't be weak. He needed to stay strong, but he had no control over it or the visions anymore.

_"I already told you I don't know anything!"_

Strong hands wrapped around his biceps and tugged him away from the wall. He wanted to fight, to push them away, disgusted by the way they felt on his skin. But he couldn't fight, he was trapped inside his own body, inside his own mind.

_"What are they doing? Is Mama asleep?"_

_Nora brushed her hand over his cheek, much like how his mother had earlier. "No. She's not."_

_"Then why are they putting her to bed?"_

_The man stood over her and dropped the sheet over her feet, pulling it up and letting it fall over her face._

Jace felt his breath grow ragged and pain pierce his chest. "Stop." His voice came out a whisper. He wanted the images to stop. He wanted the hands tugging against him to let go. He wanted to open his eyes and breathe correctly, but he couldn't seem to catch a firm enough hold on reality to pull himself back.

_"Let go! I don't want to go with you." He jerked back but she held firm to him._

_She didn't speak to him again and continued to drag him toward the door. Jace struggled against her hold and planted his feet on the carpet. But no matter what he did, he just slid closer and closer to the door. He whipped back around, his eyes gliding over his mother once more. _

_"Mama! Mama!" _

_He pulled against Marge's hold again, but she held his jacket tight. He clawed at the front trying to find the zipper, but before he could get it all the way down, Marge reached down and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him further and further from the house._

_"Let go!" he shouted. "Let go!"_

Jace knew it was a memory, knew it wasn't what was holding him now, and somehow he managed enough strength and awareness to reach up, pull the hands off him and throw them away from his body. It was enough to break through, to stop the past from devouring him whole. "Stop! Don't touch me."

He opened his eyes and stumbled back, his knees somehow finding the edge of a chair and his body fell into it. Leaning forward, he placed his spinning head into his hands. "Just don't touch me," he mumbled, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to calm his mind.

The air around him shifted and the energy moved away, sitting itself down across from him. Jace took in a few calming breaths, warding off the remaining pulses of anxiety trying to take him.

"Why did you come here?" he managed to say. "Why now? Couldn't you just let me be? Let me be happy?"

"Because you need to know the truth."

Jace looked up, finally meeting his father's eyes once more. In them, he saw sincerity. He saw the man he knew, the one who played soccer with him in the back yard, the one who put him on his shoulders so he could see what was happening over the tops of people's heads when he was too short, the one who took him to the park and held his hand as he crossed the street. He didn't see the man who'd stood over his mother's body that night, the one who'd taken Patches from his arms as he'd slept, the man he'd become in that last year before Jace was taken away. In this moment, he saw his father. The one he missed, the one he was robbed of when he'd changed, when he'd gone away.

"What truth is that?" Jace shook his head and looked away. "The only truth I see is that you say you didn't kill her, but they told me you did. You went to trial. I saw them take you away."

Michael nodded. "That was what you were supposed to believe. What they were all supposed to believe."

Jace lowered his head and shook it in disbelief. When he raised his eyes, he saw his father studying him with what looked like curiosity.

Michael let out a breath. "I know you were hurt. I know it hasn't been pleasant for you—"

"Pleasant?" Jace spat, his anger rising to the surface again. "You know it wasn't _pleasant_ for me?" He laughed. "No, I should say not. Pleasant is not the word I'd use to describe being thrown up against walls, hit with belts, given only bread and water, and locked in closets for hours. No, not _pleasant_ at all."

Michael closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "I'm so sorry. It was never supposed to be that way—"

"It wasn't supposed to be _what_ way?" Jace asked. "Jesus, would you please just tell me what the hell this is all about."

"You were never supposed to go into the system. That wasn't the plan if anything were to happen to your mother or me. You were supposed to go with our people." He stared off to the wall behind Jace's shoulder. "But somehow . . . somehow, that night everything went wrong. All of our plans, just . . . failed."

Jace's hands found their way into his hair and he stood. Confusion laced itself through every fiber of his being. He had no idea what was happening, what his father was saying. Every word he uttered just made Jace more and more baffled.

Michael looked up at him and sighed. "We knew someday you'd have to know, you'd have to be prepared. But we wanted you to live as normally as possible for as long as possible." He stood slowly, making sure to maintain a comfortable distance from Jace. "But that night, when they came for her, all of our plans went up in flames. Everything we'd done to protect her, and you, came crashing down around us and the only way out was for me to leave and to hide you."

Jace just stared. He couldn't even force the questions out of his throat to ask what was on his mind.

"I can see you have questions and I'll answer them all, but I need something from you first."

"What?" he managed to squeeze out.

"I need you to sit. I need you to open your mind because this isn't going to be easy to hear. Hell, it's not easy to say."

Jace sat, not really wanting to but needing to just hear this. To just get it over with once and for all.

Michael lowered himself to the couch across from Jace and ran his hand through his hair once more. "I don't even know where to start."

"Normally, the beginning is a good place."

Michael chuckled, the sound conflicting in Jace's mind. "Yes, I suppose so." He let out a breath. "I met your mother just after I'd gotten out of college. I worked for the father of the young man she was dating at the time. She was just so . . . fun and . . . carefree. She had everything going for her. She was smart, funny . . . beautiful." He stopped and studied Jace. "You have her eyes, you know."

Jace swallowed, not knowing what to say to that.

Michael looked down at his hands. "Anyway, we got to know each other and I fell for her, hard." He paused. "But she was head over heels for my boss's son. So, I settled to be her friend. It was hard—watching her with him, but I did it. I just wanted her to be happy, and he loved her." His father let out a slow breath. "I'd worked for my boss for over a year when it happened. She was so happy when she told me. I can still see the tears of joy in her eyes when she held up her ring-clad finger. And even though I loved her and wanted her for myself, I knew he was a good man—very unlike his father, who was cruel and a criminal. He was moral and kind and . . . just, everything she deserved. So, for that I was happy." Michael raised his pained eyes to Jace once more and spoke, his voice coming out barely a whisper, "It was also then that she told me she was pregnant."

Jace's breath left him in a loud whoosh and his heart pounded furiously in his chest. "What?" The words he spoke made no sense. Had his mother had a child before him? Did he have a brother or sister out there, or . . .

"She was pregnant with you," Michael said simply.

Jace's mouth dropped open but no sound came out. What was he saying? "But . . ."

"I'm not your biological father, Jace."

Jace closed his eyes and shook his head. He heard the words, comprehending what his father was saying, but for some reason they wouldn't soak in. His brain wouldn't let him grasp the significance.

Michael scooted forward further on the couch until he sat just on the edge. "We never meant for you to never know, for you to go your whole life believing a lie. But when your mother was killed, everything changed. Everything."

"Who?" Jace asked. "Who is my father?"

"His name was Stephen Herondale."

"Was?" Jace didn't miss the past tense.

"Yes. He was killed not long after your mother found out she was pregnant."

Jace fell back into the chair, his body not wanting to hold him upright anymore.

Michael leaned forward. "I know this is a lot. More than anyone should have to handle, especially a seventeen-year-old boy, but it's imperative for you to know."

"I'm listening," Jace said, although his head was still spinning. Everything he'd ever thought he'd known was a lie. All the people in his life, the circumstances of his parentage, everything a lie.

"Shortly after your parent's engagement was announced, Stephen stumbled onto some incriminating files in his father's safe. Being the moral man he was, he took them with the intention of turning them over to the police, but before he did so, he pulled me aside." Michael swallowed. "He told me what he was going to do and asked me to take care of your mother if anything should happen to him. He knew how I felt about Celine, and he knew I was the one person he could count on to protect her." He turned his eyes to Jace. "And I did. After Stephen's betrayal was discovered, his own father had him taken care of—but they didn't recover the files. They assumed Celine knew where they were and they went after her. I took her away. I gave her my name and I hid her. When she had you, I took you as my own son. I raised you as my own and in my heart, you are _mine_. You will always be mine."

"What happened that night?" Jace asked, his voice trembling with all the emotions tumbling about inside him.

"That night . . . that night they found us."

Jace closed his eyes, not needing to hear what happened next, but Michael continued.

"I tried to head them off, lead them away, but they found her anyway. She knew to hide you and you stayed quiet like she asked. They had no idea you were there. No idea you existed." He let out a breath. "I knew then that the only way to protect you was to take the blame and let you go. Little did Herondale Sr. know, but I had been a narc, a spy, placed on his security team as a means to extract the very information Stephen stole. So, when we felt like they may be getting close, we made arrangements for you to be taken and cared for by a family within the organization—one like the Lightwoods." He looked up, meeting Jace's surprised gaze. "Yes, the Lightwoods work for our agency as well."

Jace closed his eyes and clenched his fists, his entire world falling apart in front of him. There was nothing left in his life that wasn't fabricated.

"But that night—that night everything went wrong. The CPA took you and your case was so wrapped up in red tape that we couldn't get you out easily. We tried. We tried for so long." He lowered his hands to his lap. "In the meantime, I went through the trial, but it was all a farce. Everyone involved knew it was only a pretense to give Herondale Sr. a false sense of security. Everyone knew he ordered the hit, we just didn't have the proof."

"If you weren't in prison then where were you?"

"Working. Watching over you." He smiled a small, sad smile.

"Why didn't you ever try to get me back?"

Michael shook his head. "Because it was only a matter of time before they found out that I wasn't in prison, and if they caught me with you, they'd know right away who you were."

Jace furrowed his brows. "But you said they didn't know I existed. How would they have known?"

"Because, other than your eyes, you look exactly like Stephen. If they saw me with you, they would have known." He sighed. "Unfortunately, we have learned that they have managed to discover I had a son."

Jace raised his brows. "How? And why would they care?"

Michael sighed. "I don't know how, but I suspect your grandmother, Imogen Herondale, had an idea that your mother was pregnant. She always had this uncanny sense about things. They probably kept digging into my life, looking for anything they weren't expecting. And now, they've found it."

"So, what does that mean?"

"It means that they're looking for you. They want to know for sure that you're mine."

"And you think if they see me, they'll know I'm—I'm not yours?"

"I don't think it, I know it."

Jace lowered his head into his hands. "So what? Now I'm just a walking target for these people? What do they want from me anyway?"

"They need an heir. Stephen was the last in their line. Up until recently, their empire was on the verge of crumbling and old man Herondale's health is failing. But now that they think it's a possibility that Stephen may have had a child, they'll stop at nothing to find you and try to bring you over to their side."

Jace lifted his head and dropped his hands to his thighs. "Well, I'm not interested in them or anything they have to offer me. Case closed."

Michael smiled a sad smile. "I wish it were that simple. But it's not." He sighed. "If they find you and you refuse them, they'll make you change your mind."

Jace snorted. "Good luck with that. Just ask Maryse, I can't be reasoned with."

"If only reasoning was how they worked, but sadly they don't."

"What do you mean?"

"These people don't persuade like normal human beings. They will use anything," he paused, "or anyone to get to you. To make you do what they want."

Jace sat up straighter. "You think they'd try to hurt the Lightwoods?"

Michael nodded. "Most definitely, but Maryse and Robert knew what they were getting into when they took you in. They have the ability to protect their own family and you. That's why they were chosen."

"So?" Jace knew there was more, and he was pretty sure he wasn't going to like it.

Michael sighed. "How attached are you to . . . what's her name? Clary?"

A streak of fury ripped through Jace's body at the insinuation. "You think they'd hurt Clary?"

Michael met and held Jace's eyes. "They will use anything you love against you."

Jace shook his head furiously. "No. No!"

Michael reached out for Jace, but he pulled away.

"I won't let them hurt her. Hurt any of them. Not because of me."

"I know son. That's the reason we've come."

"You're going to protect them?" Jace felt a slight bit of hope light in his chest.

"No, Son." Michael shook his head. "You are."


	28. One Last Time

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

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_**Chapter 28: One Last Time**_

_Chapter Songs:_

_Broken by Lifehouse_

_Transatlanticism by Death Cab for Cutie_

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Clary paced the floors in the front room, straining her neck every few minutes to the window, checking to see if the black SUV had pulled away yet. Her fingers found their way into her mouth and she gnawed restlessly at her nails. When those had been ground into sore, bloody stumps, she started on her cuticles.

Isabelle sat on the couch, her eyes fixed on Clary, watching as she walked back and forth. She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them. Clary stopped her manic pacing and let out a deep sigh. All this time she'd let her worry get the best of her and had forgotten the shock Isabelle had received. Moving toward the couch, she sat down next to her friend and raised a hand to her shoulder.

"You okay?" she asked.

Isabelle shook her head and lowered her forehead to her knees. "I just thought he was an ass," she whispered. "I never thought—I never even—I never knew it was something like _that_."

Clary sighed and laid her head on Isabelle's shoulder, closing her eyes. "I know."

Isabelle turned toward Clary, keeping her cheek flush with her knees. "I wish I would have known. I wish I would have so I could've been different. I could've—"

"No." Clary shook her head and raised a hand to run it through Isabelle's hair. "He didn't want that—he still doesn't."

"But I feel so horrible for how I've treated him. If I'd only known—"

"Then you just would've been pitying him. Believe me, that isn't what he wants. What any of us want," Clary's voice lowered to a whisper. She sighed. "You've been an awesome sister, and I know Jace loves you. He loves all of you. I think the way you treated him is exactly what he needed." She met Isabelle's eyes. "Normal. You treated him like him living with you was the most natural thing in the world. Like he was your brother no matter what he'd been through and no matter that he didn't share the same blood. He was just Jace, just your brother. He still is."

Isabelle was silent for several long moments. When she spoke, it wasn't what Clary expected to hear. "Did he really—did his father really kill his mother?"

Clary closed her eyes. "Yes."

"But, if he did . . . how is he here, and why do my parents act like they know him?"

Clary shook her head and stood, making her way to the window once more and pushing the curtain aside with her hand. "I don't know, Izzy. I just don't know."

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Clary noticed movement from next door. She leaned into the window further, trying her hardest to see what was going on. The armed men that had circled Michael exited the house and made their way to the SUV parked in the driveway. Next, Maryse and Robert came out and climbed into their car. Clary frowned as they all just sat there. No one started a vehicle, no one got out.

A good hour passed before another figure exited the Lightwood home. This person was dressed in black as well. Michael. Clary squinted against the darkness to see if she could make out Jace, but he didn't appear. Michael climbed into the SUV and finally the cars roared to life. The vehicle slowly backed out of the driveway, followed by Maryse and Robert's car. Both sped off down the street, the sound of the engines dying away as the lights faded into the darkness.

Clary stood still, unable to move for several seconds. Her heart beat hard and loud in her chest, every pump more noticeable than the last. After a bit, she turned to Izzy. "They all left," she said quietly.

Isabelle raised her gaze and her eyes met Clary's. Both girls stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity before Isabelle jumped to her feet and sprinted toward the door. Clary followed, her chest squeezing uncomfortably tight against her ribs. She wondered what she'd find when they entered the Lightwood's house. What state would Jace be in? Pained and angry? Or lost and empty as she'd seen a glimpse of when the door had shut in her face earlier. She had to admit she was scared. Scared she'd really lost him, that he'd lost himself.

The short trek across their yards seemed to take hours. Almost as if she was trapped in one of those dreams where she tried to move but it felt as though her legs were stuck in a thick lake of mud. Frustration and impatience burned inside of her as they reached the steps and wrenched open the door.

The house was silent. Not a single sound, whisper, or creak met their ears. They looked at each other, eyes wide and fearful.

"Jace?" Isabelle called timidly.

No answer.

They checked the living room, but it was empty and in the same order it had been when they'd left. Isabelle moved ahead of Clary and they scoured the downstairs, making sure none of the goons were left and that Jace wasn't down there somewhere.

"Okay," Isabelle said. "No one's here."

Clary let out a slow breath and her eyes flitted to the ceiling briefly. "He's probably upstairs."

Isabelle met her gaze and nodded. "Go."

"But what about—"

Isabelle shook her head. "You're the one he'll want. The one he'll need." She gave a small smile and urged Clary forward. "Go."

Clary reached out and hugged Isabelle, then with a deep breath, started toward the stairs. She climbed them slowly, trying to prepare herself for the worst. To keep herself from crumbling when she saw the vacant look she knew would be in his eyes. The one they'd both worked so long and hard to remove. She knew better than anyone what pain did to a person. How it burrowed itself deep inside and festered until it became a seeping wound. How it infected every part of the person until there was no choice but to build a barrier around it, keeping it locked down securely. She'd done it. Jace had done it. It was the only way to endure. The only way that made surviving bearable. But something had happened between Jace and her, and for some reason, they were able to start mending each other, putting back the things that had been jumbled, fixing what was broken. The walls were no longer needed to keep the disease inside, because instead of growing, it was slowly healing. Unfortunately, it was a tedious path and anything could come along and destroy all the progress they'd made.

When Clary finally reached the landing at the top of the stairs, she moved to stand just outside Jace's closed door. No light shown from under the crack in the bottom. She furrowed her brows, confused. Deciding to just go along with her plan, she raised her fist and knocked gently against the wood. No answer. She knocked again. Still no answer. Holding her breath, she reached down and twisted the knob, pushing the door open slowly.

Her eyes swept the room, squinting against the darkness within. Finally, they fell on him. A relieved breath escaped her lips as she took him in. He stood partially in the shadows in front of his window. The faint glow of moonlight cascaded over his body, making his skin appear a strange blue color. It took Clary a second to realize he wasn't wearing a shirt. Only a pair of jeans with the band of his black underwear sticking out of the top. He clutched his shirt tightly in his hand.

Clary swallowed and crossed the threshold, closing the door behind her. Taking a few tentative steps forward, she called out to him once more. "Jace?"

He still didn't answer, but she saw his shoulders tense and then relax. Letting out a breath, she moved across the room, stopping only when she stood directly behind him. She raised her hand and placed it carefully on his shoulder blade. He let out a shuddering breath and lowered his head. Clary lifted her other hand and placed it in the same spot on the opposite side, then slid both to his shoulder and down his arms until they came to rest at his biceps. She took another step forward and touched her forehead to his back.

"Please talk to me," she whispered. "Are you all right?"

He sighed and Clary felt him shake his head.

Her heart clenched. Tears welled in her eyes and she snapped them shut, trying to ward off the moisture building. Sucking in a breath, she held it and concentrated on the feel of his breathing and the warmth of his skin soaking through her fingertips. She would give anything to make his pain go away. Anything. If she could, she would take it all into herself, suffer with it for the rest of her life if it meant he'd be free.

"Tell me how to help you. Tell me what to do. I don't know what to do." Her breath hitched and the last word squeaked out.

Slowly, she felt Jace turn toward her. She kept her face down trying to hide her tears, knowing he didn't need to deal with her emotion along with his own. But, true to Jace form, he tucked a finger under her chin and lifted until her face turned up to his. She kept her eyes squeezed tight, until she felt his fingers trace across her cheek and heard his voice. "Pippi . . ."

Just that one spoken word told her everything she needed to know. It wasn't empty or void or dead. It was full, emotional, and utterly and completely her Jace. Her eyes snapped open and she was met by the most beautiful golden stare. Her breath caught and she reached out, tracing her fingers along the line of his brow and trailed down to his cheeks.

"You're still here," she whispered, her voice full and unsteady.

He furrowed his brow and looked down on her in confusion. "Of course I'm here. Where did you think I'd go?"

She shook her head, the tears she'd tried to hold at bay slipping past her lids and falling over her cheeks. "No, I meant, you didn't bury yourself like before. You . . . you stayed."

He closed his eyes and touched his forehead to hers, his thumbs sliding along her jaw. "This time I had something to stay for."

His words wrapped around her, enveloping her safely within their grasp and reassuring her. The person he'd become was permanent and nothing could have made her happier or more relieved.

"Oh, thank God," she said as she tucked her arms around his waist and laid her cheek against his chest. He raised one hand to her head, cupping it gently to him while the other snaked around her back. His lips brushed her hair causing a shiver to race up her spine. There were so many questions building in her mind, but at that moment, the only thing she wanted, the only thing she needed, was to feel him like this. To hold him in her arms and know without a doubt that he was okay. That he was Jace. _Her_ Jace. The one who'd helped her crawl out of her own grief. The one who'd held her securely in his embrace as she'd let every bit of the sadness she'd been harboring pour out of her. The one who'd kissed her so softly and told her he loved her when he'd never really heard the words himself. This was where she wanted to be, only here.

After a few minutes, Jace let out a breath and loosened his grasp on her. Clary frowned and took a step back, looking up into his face and wondering why he'd let her go. His head hung and he didn't meet her eyes.

"Jace?"

He took a breath and looked up. That's when she saw it. Something festered behind his eyes. Something wasn't right. Every feeling of peace and comfort fell away only to be replaced by uncomfortable anxiety. Her eyes bored into his, moving from one to the other, hoping to find what was wrong before he could hide it again. But he didn't even try. He grabbed her hands, pulled her over to the bed, and sat. She stood rigid and waiting in front of him, shaking her head when he tugged on her hands, trying to get her to sit next to him.

Jace sighed and lowered his head once more. Clary's heart felt as though it might burst out of her chest. She didn't know what was going on, and at that moment, she wasn't sure she wanted to. He looked back up, sadness radiating from him in waves. Clary swallowed hard and knelt down in front of him. She placed her hands on his knees and met his gaze.

"Tell me, please. I can see you have something to say, just please, tell me."

He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly before meeting hers once more. Reaching down he took her hand in his, tracing the lines of her fingers, his touch sending the same electrical shock it always did. "My father didn't kill my mother."

Clary's mouth dropped open. That definitely wasn't what she expected to hear. "Wh—what?"

He shook his head. "I know. I—I still can't really believe it—but, he didn't."

She raised a hand to her mouth. "Wh—why? How?"

"It's complicated and—" He stopped and moved his gaze to the window.

"And what?"

"And—" He met her stare once more. "And I can't tell you anything about it."

She furrowed her brows. "Why?" A feeling of panic built in her chest. Why couldn't he tell her? What was going on?

He reached up and cupped her cheeks, his eyes moving over her as if he were trying to memorize every facet of her face. "I just can't, Pippi."

"Oh," she said softly, rocking back slightly on the balls of her feet. "I see."

He gripped her face tighter. "It's not that I don't want to. I just—I can't."

"So, that's what he wanted to see you for? To tell you he didn't do it?"

He swallowed hard. "Mostly, yes."

"Mostly?"

He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, causing Clary's breathing to grow shallow and shaky. "He wanted to let me know he was leaving, and . . ." His voice broke.

"And," Clary whispered, unable to find her own voice, fearing what he was going to say.

"And . . ." His face contorted and he dropped his head. "And I'm going with him."

Clary's heart shot into her throat and she nearly choked on it. "What?" She wrenched her face out of his hands, her heart beating furiously against her ever tightening ribs. Pain shot through her chest and squeezed her stomach.

He gazed up at her through a wall of pain and regret, then stood slowly and reached out for her. "Pippi—"

A sudden burst of anger shot through her and she slapped his hand away. "Don't 'Pippi' me," she said through the hot tears trying to crowd her throat. "What do you mean you're going with him?" He took a step forward and she took one back, needing him not to touch her and cloud her mind while she was trying to understand what he was saying. He couldn't mean what she thought he meant. He just _couldn't._ "Please tell me I heard you wrong."

"You didn't hear wrong." His voice shook, although she could tell he was trying to contain it. "I'm going with him."

She closed her eyes and the sob rising from her chest broke through in an audible gasp. Her legs trembled beneath her and she doubted they could hold her much longer. Jace strode forward and took her in his arms, holding her tight against him even through her protests. She pounded her fists against his chest, but no matter how hard she pushed, he never loosened his grip.

"Why?" She managed through the sobs. "How can you go with him? After everything he put you through. Everything—" She sucked in a shaking breath. "How can you leave me?"

A choked breath escaped from his throat and he held her face, forcing her to meet his pained eyes. "You think I want to leave you? There is nothing in this world I want less, but I have no choice. I _have_ to go."

She wanted to tell him he couldn't go, that he didn't have to do anything. To force him to stay right there with her forever, as ridiculous as that sounded. To tell him how much she needed him, wanted him, loved him, but knew it would be no use. Her begging and pleading and declarations would make no difference in the grand scheme of things, rationally she knew this. But her breaking heart didn't want to listen.

"When?" she asked the one question she really didn't want the answer to.

He took in a few ragged breaths. "Tomorrow." The answer came out a whisper.

She squeezed her eyes shut and let her head fall to his chest, her forehead thudding against his skin. His hand came up and weaved into her hair, holding her tightly against him.

"Permanently?" she mumbled into his chest.

He hesitated for a lot longer than made her comfortable. "I don't know."

She tried so hard to hold back the sobs fighting to get out, but her body shook with them anyway.

"I'm sorry, Pippi," he whispered. "If I could—If things were—God, I'm just . . . I'm just sorry."

She wrapped her arms around his waist, trying her hardest to meld herself with him. To be as close as humanly possible. His heart thudded loud and strong and she listened intently, hoping that somehow she could memorize the sound. His essence was all around her, his scent, his warmth, his touch, wave upon wave breaking over her, comforting and killing her softly with each assault.

"Are you ever coming back?" she asked in a small voice.

He breathed out, hot air flowing over her hair. "Clary—"

"No wait," she said. "Don't answer that. Please, don't answer that." Lifting her head, she gazed up at him, seeing by the tightness around his eyes how much this hurt him as well. The ache in her chest grew the longer she looked at him, the more she studied his features. Her eyes raked over his perfect face, wanting so much to burn the image into her brain, because, somehow, she knew it might be a long time before she saw him again. She raised her hands and tentatively grazed his cheek. His eyes closed and he leaned into her touch. She lifted her other hand until she cradled his face between both of them. Stretching up, she brushed her lips against his forehead, then his cheeks, and paused for just a fraction of a moment before resting them on his mouth. Warmth and softness and an undeniable amount of yearning passed through her. A choked sob crowded into her throat and more tears streamed down, as his hands pulled her closer and his lips returned her kiss.

After a minute, Jace pulled back, his hands gripping her face and holding it against his. "I love you." He kissed her once more and then swallowed. "I love you so damn much it literally hurts."

Clary nodded. "I know. Me too."

His lips hovered just in front of hers, his breath coming fast and hot against her skin. She reached up and wrapped her fingers around his wrists, squeezing them tightly. "Jace," she whispered, her body shaking in his grasp. "Please."

His eyes shot to hers and studied her with confusion.

She leaned into him, her lips barely touching his. "Kiss me," she breathed.

His chest heaved as he sucked in a breath and his fingers clenched around her jaw, drawing her into him roughly. Their kisses had always managed to take Clary's breath away, to transport her to a place where nothing could touch her. But this . . . this was something completely above and beyond even that. It was needy, desperate, and so filled with want it made her body weaken and sag into him.

Clary's hands found their way up into his hair and fisted themselves in the silken strands, pulling him tighter against her. Jace started to move, pushing her backward as he walked, stopping only when her back hit the door. His hand reached out and twisted the lock before coming back up and clutching her waist. Blood soared through Clary's veins, igniting her body with unbearable heat. She would have thought that his hot flesh pressed against hers would make it that much more unbearable, but it had the exact opposite effect. Everywhere his skin touched hers served as an anesthetic, soothing the aching burn raging inside of her. The sweatshirt she wore became constricting and stifling and all she knew was that she wanted it off. Withdrawing her hands from his hair, she hastily grabbed it and pulled it over her head, leaving her standing there in only her jeans and a simple soft-pink bra. Jace raised his brows, but Clary didn't wait for his response. She threw herself back in his arms, sighing when they wrapped tightly around her and his lips moved in perfect harmony with hers.

Their hands were everywhere, touching, clutching, grabbing as Clary pushed him back toward the bed. They stumbled over each other, unable to separate for even a moment to easily navigate the way. Clary couldn't bring herself to stop because she knew it would result in some sort of pain, whether physical or emotional she didn't know which. All she knew was that she needed him, wanted him so desperately in that moment that nothing mattered more. The feel of his body under her fingers and hers under his was almost more than her mind could comprehend.

Finally, the backs of his knees hit the mattress and he sat, pulling her down on top of him. She straddled his lap, squeezing her thighs against his waist and yanking on his hair. Her breath was ragged and fast as his hands clutched at her hips. She could feel him under her, next to her, all around her. Hands and lips and skin, enveloping her, loving her, needing her as much as she needed him. His taste filled her and yet she still couldn't get enough. She would never have enough.

"Please don't go," she said between kisses, her hands twisted so tightly in his hair she was sure it probably hurt. "I love you. I need you. Please."

Jace groaned and kissed her again, hard and deep. "I don't want to, Pippi. But I have to."

"No." Her hands left his hair and moved down his chest, fingers memorizing every line, every scar, every piece of him that they could reach. Soon, her lips followed, across his cheeks, trailing his jaw, down his neck. She left several small, wet kisses along his collar bone as her fingers danced over his stomach, brushing the top of his jeans in the process. Her breath caught and her heart thudded as the fabric touched her skin. Thoughts, images, and feelings bombarded her mind and suddenly, she knew what she wanted. Knew what she needed.

As he kissed her neck and shoulder obliviously, she let her hands lower until she felt the cold metal of the snap against her. She closed her eyes as his fingers traced along her jaw and he cupped her face, trailing his lips up to her ear. Turning her face, she met his and took his mouth eagerly with her own, using the distraction to yank open the snap.

Jace froze and his eyes snapped open at the exact time his hands grabbed hers. Clary shook them off and continued with his pants until she had the zipper down and the front of his black boxer briefs exposed.

"Clary," Jace said, his voice rough and breathing labored. "Wait. Wait a minute."

She shook her head and continued kissing his neck, her hands still encased in his. "I don't want to wait. I want you."

"Pippi, not—" His body shuddered and his grip loosened for a brief moment before it tightened again. "Not like this."

"Why?" She continued her relentless attack on his skin, finally breaking free and fanning her touch across his abdomen. Her mouth rose to his and kissed him hard. "I need you."

"You have me." He stilled her hands and she raised her gaze to his. When he had her attention, he laid her palm over his heart. Clary felt it beating beneath her fingers. "You'll always have me, Pippi. No matter where I am. I'm yours. You own me."

Clary felt her heart squeeze, but shook her head against the sensation, lowering her face to his chest, her hands trailing down once more. "But I want you like this too."

He didn't grab her hands again, but instead raised his to her face, making her look at him. "Not like this," he said quietly, pausing before adding, "Not as goodbye."

Clary's breathing stopped, almost as if something had slammed into her chest, taking away her ability to even draw in a breath. He'd said it. The word she never wanted to hear, the one she would have paid with her own life to never cross his perfect lips._ Goodbye._ Slowly she looked up, meeting his eyes. In them, she saw all the pain, all the longing, all the want she felt inside.

He moved his gaze from one of her eyes to the other, his fingers trailing softly through the hair above her ears. "Never as goodbye," he whispered.

In that moment, it felt as though a chasm ripped in Clary's chest, pulling her down inside it and then sealing back up over her. Her body crumpled into his, her chest heaving with renewed helplessness. His arms wrapped around her, holding her closely to him. She raised hers to his neck and clutched him tightly, knowing that the moment she let go he'd be gone.

Tears fell from her cheeks to his skin, and she wanted to stop, to control herself, but she couldn't contain the eruption of pain pouring out of her. Jace didn't say a word, he just held her, placing soft kisses to her neck just below her ear, his hands tracing lines up her spine. Reaching up, she ran her fingers into his hair, reveling in how the stands felt between her fingers. She closed her eyes and drew in a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself.

When she'd finally gained some semblance of control, her body relaxed, but she didn't release him. She turned her face toward his, pressing her lips to his cheek. "I'm sorry, but I just can't let go." Her grip on his neck tightened to prove her point.

Jace shook his head. "I don't want you to let go. Don't ever let go."

Clary sighed and collapsed into him, her body exhausted and limp in his arms. "I love you," she whispered.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and reached over, grabbing the covers. "I know," he said and he laid them both down on their sides, pulling the blankets up over them.

Clary tucked her face into his chest and hitched her leg over his hip, wiggling herself in as close as she could get to him. One of her hands tucked under her chin and the other draped over him. Her breathing evened out and her lids felt heavy. She fought against the darkness trying to pull her under, not wanting to miss a moment with him.

"Jace?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't let me fall asleep."

He shifted and she looked up at him. His eyes met hers and in them she saw that he understood. He leaned in and touched his lips to hers gently. She reached up and traced her fingers along his jaw, feeling the slight stubble that always lined it in the evening. The same electricity that accompanied every touch crackled and sparked against her skin.

"I'm going to miss you so much," she whispered against his lips, one last tear streaming down her cheek.

He nodded. "Me too. More than I could ever say." Pulling back, he met her gaze, his own serious and determined. "I'm coming back, Clary. One way or another, I'll come back. I promise."

Even through the tears, she managed to smile. "I know. I'll be waiting."

He lowered his forehead to hers. "I don't expect you to wait for me. I don't know how long—"

She raised a finger to his lips and then traced them with it. "I told you before, there's no one else I want. No one else I will ever want."

He shook his head. "You don't know that. And if there ever is . . . someone . . . else . . ." He swallowed. "I won't be angry. Jealous as hell, yes, but never upset with you." His hands moved over her face, touching her lightly. "But I can say, without a single doubt, that there will never be anyone else for me but you. No one else will ever have my heart, because I've already given it to you."

Clary rose up on one elbow and peered down at him. His eyes were sincere. She reached down and ran her fingers through his hair. "I promise you there will never be anyone else but you, either. I don't care if I'm young or if I have my whole life ahead of me. I know what I want and what I want is you. So yes, I'll be waiting. For as long as it takes, I'll wait for you." She grabbed his hand and placed his palm on her chest over her heart. "Do you feel that?" He nodded. "This isn't mine anymore. The moment you walked into my life it stopped being mine. Each beat, each breath I take, belongs to you. Always."

His forehead creased and he reached behind her neck, drawing her to him. His lips touched hers and she felt his breath shudder as he released it. "I don't want to leave," he whispered. "It's killing me. My chest, my heart, my whole body hurts, and I feel like I can't breathe." His hands trembled slightly against her skin. "I'm afraid to close my eyes, to stop touching you, because as soon as I do, tomorrow will be here. And I don't want tomorrow to come. I want it to stay tonight forever."

Clary kissed him lightly once more. "Then let's make tonight last as long as possible." She settled her body on top of his, her elbows resting on either side of his head as she looked into his eyes.

Finally, for the first time that night, his lips curved up into the half-smile she adored so much. "Okay," he said as he pulled her into him, capturing her mouth once more, making her forget everything that was to be and helping her to focus on what was. That night. That moment. Because, as they both knew, it was all they had left.


	29. Pain

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

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_**Chapter 29: Pain**_

_Chapter Songs:_

_The Story – 30 Seconds to Mars _

_She is the Sunlight – Trading Yesterday **Lyrics belong to "She is the Sunlight" belong to Trading Yesterday._

_All We Are – OneRepublic _

_Hurricane – 30 Seconds to Mars _

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Foreboding silence hung heavy in the room, stretching to the furthest corners and filling every void like creeping fog. Jace sat perched on the end of his bed, his head down and his trembling hands thrust into his hair. The skin of his chest felt as though it had shrunk a few sizes and now squeezed uncomfortably against his ribs, making it hard to breath. He closed his eyes and drew in a slow, pained breath, willing the tightness to abate and the pressure swelling inside to lessen. Dropping his hands from his hair, he raised his face to the ceiling. The fan above whirred and pushed cooling air down onto him, refreshing his heated flesh.

Dull, golden light filtered through the curtains, pooling to the floor below the window. The last sign that the day he'd been dreading had finally dawned. In the darkness, surrounded by nothing but the girl he loved, things seemed simpler, less urgent. But now, with the light filling and overtaking the night, the reality in which he'd created became true and nearly unbearable to accept. He knew his decision was the best one for everyone—even if it didn't feel like it to him. Hurt, pain, and disappointment had come to be expected in his life. It wasn't what he wanted, it just was. There was no changing the course of his destiny—at least that's what he'd always told himself. That he wasn't good enough, or deserving enough to have what other people had.

Family.

Friends.

Love.

In the past, he'd embraced it, moved on, and just accepted that was how it was. But this time he didn't want to do that. He wanted a life all his own. He wanted . . . more. He needed more. He _deserved_ more.

His fists clenched at his sides and he drew in a sharp breath, anger flooding through him and filling the emptiness that had been present ever since the night before. Memories of the look on her face, the trembling of her voice, the tears falling over her cheeks, washed over him and fueled the overwhelming urge to hit something.

He'd hurt her.

Something he'd promised himself he'd never do. Seeing her cry, witnessing her pain, and knowing he was the one who'd caused it, was more unbearable than anything else about this whole messed up situation. It wasn't enough, apparently, that everyone he loved was in danger because of him, but he had to hurt them all—maybe irrevocably—to protect them. It wasn't fair. _Life_ wasn't fair. But he already knew that. He'd lived that truth for twelve years.

It didn't matter that God had, for whatever reason, decided to hand him a steaming pile of crap to live in to begin with. But He just had to keep dumping it on him, over and over until he was buried miles beneath it. One would have thought, given the circumstances, that he wouldn't believe in a God who would allow that. Who would stand by and watch as a small boy listened to his mother die, witnessed his father being taken away, and allowed monstrous people to take him in and beat what innocence he had left out. For so many years he'd believed just that—that God couldn't be real. But if that was true, if God wasn't real, then how was he sitting there, looking down on the most beautiful girl, watching her—in her perfect innocence—dream, knowing she was in love with _him_. Something he never thought he would experience. A lost and broken soul, drifting aimlessly through life, having no reason to connect, no reason to believe he was worth a damn.

Until she walked into his life. Well, more like tripped into it.

Before her, all he could see was his own heartache. How unlucky he must have been to get the cards he was dealt. But she'd taught him how to see past his own pain, his own torment, and focus on someone else's. That he wasn't the only one who'd been given a pile of crap to live in, and somehow, that made him feel normal. For once in his life, he belonged. With her, he belonged.

A muffled sigh brough him out of his mind, and he glanced over to the sleeping figure lying at the head of his bed. She looked so small, so fragile, wrapped up in his blankets, her red hair fanned over the pillow and her hands tucked carefully under her cheek. Her chest moved rhythmically with her deep breaths.

Jace closed his eyes briefly before scooting closer to her. He gazed down at her face, the peaceful expression leaving her skin smooth and free of the lines which gave proof to her distress. Reaching out, he drew a finger carefully under a stray curl lying across her cheek, the act reminding him of that first night she'd spent with Isabelle and he'd carried her back to his sister's room after she'd fallen asleep outside his door. How much he wished he could go back to those days. To when things, no matter how screwed up they both were, seemed simpler. To when the only danger was from people finding out how they felt about each other. If he'd known then what he knew now, he would have told her the moment he knew how he felt about her. He wouldn't have tried to fight it, or hide it. It would have afforded him more time with her. To touch her, to kiss her, to love her like she deserved.

There were so many things he wanted to say to her, so many things he wished he could tell her. He didn't want to leave letting her think it was as simple as him choosing his father over all of them. That wasn't it at all. But what could he say that wouldn't make the threat to any of them more palpable? How could he explain it without spilling that? He knew if he tried to say it to her face he'd say something he shouldn't. But he couldn't leave it like it was. He needed to at least let her know that he wasn't choosing anything over her. He was choosing her. Her safety. Her life. All of their lives. He could stay, yes, and maybe no one would find him. But what if they did? How could he live with the knowledge that he could have prevented it. That he could have saved them all by just removing himself from their lives. Maybe it was selfish, but he couldn't. Hell, it seemed any decision he could make was selfish in some way.

As he continued to look down on Clary, his fingers itched to touch her. To run themselves over the smooth planes of her skin. To feel the electrical current that accompanied every touch. The warmth that flowed through him, making him feel full and alive. He didn't care how cheesy it sounded, she did complete him. She filled all the holes left in his soul, like when a wave crashes over the shore covering the pits in the sand and drawing back over them, healing them as if they'd never stained the beach in the first place. She made him whole.

He closed his eyes and fisted his hair once more, the memories of the previous night washing over him. She'd pleaded with him to stay, and God, how he wanted to say yes. If he could he would in a heartbeat. But what he remembered most, what he regretted most, was having to tell her no when she'd asked to be with him. In that moment, he'd almost failed. He'd almost let go of her hands and allowed her to continue on her path of undressing him. He wanted her. Craved her. Needed her. And to think that she wanted him too, in that way and enough to initiate, nearly overcame him. The idea of being with her, touching her, feeling her all around him was something he couldn't even fathom. And he wanted that with her so badly. Not just because he was a hormonal teenage douchebag—which he certainly was—but because he could only imagine what it would be like to be that close to her. He didn't even know if he would have been able to stand the emotional onslaught it would have brought. They were both so cut, so raw, that it very nearly could have broken both of them.

But even that wasn't the reason he'd said no. Why he'd denied her one request, the one thing she wanted with him, that she wanted with only him. It was no secret Clary was a virgin—in every aspect of the word. And to be honest, so was he in so many ways. He'd never loved anyone before. Never let anyone see his scars, both on the inside and out. When he'd been with girls in the past, it was always dark, he was always drunk, and he'd never allowed them to touch him. It had always been about fulfilling a physical need—for both parties, so he'd never felt bad about it. But with Clary, it would be so much more. He would let her put her hands on him, touch him in any way she wanted, not just because that's what she'd expect but because that's what he wanted. Her skin on his left him heated and breathless already, add to that the sensations of being with her completely and he was sure it would be beyond anything his feeble imagination could come up with. He knew this and he wanted it, but it needed to be right. It couldn't be now, when he was about to leave her for God knew how long. To leave her to deal with the aftermath of those emotions alone would be more than irresponsible. It would be reprehensible.

When they were finally together, Jace wanted it to be everything she deserved. What they both deserved. He wanted to hold her and fall asleep next to her. And when morning came, he wanted to wake up with his arm trapped under her body, his hand tingling from lack of blood, and her hair in his face. He wanted to keep her there all day, just lying with her, listening to her thoughts, feeling her soft touch as she ran her fingers over his skin, feeling the vibrations from her laugh when he tickled her with kisses. Those were things he wouldn't compromise, wouldn't give up. She deserved them. He deserved them. _They_ deserved them. He wouldn't settle for anything less.

God, he needed to just _tell_ her. He couldn't stand the thought that she might feel rejected by him. That was the last thing he wanted. He stared down at her, taking in the peaceful look on her face and he knew he couldn't do it. He couldn't remove that look—not yet. And when he told her, she'd cry. He knew she would. Looking toward his desk, Jace noticed a notebook that had fallen out of his bag jammed between the edge of the desk and the wall. He walked over and picked it up, his fingers gliding over the smooth cover. Making a decision, he quietly drew out the chair and sat, grabbing a pen with his left hand. He flipped open he cover and stared at the blank page, wondering how he should phrase what he needed to say. Nothing smart or eloquent came to mind, so he threw all caution aside and just wrote with his heart.

Words quickly filled the page, the pen pressing into his finger as he wrote. Line after line, his scrawl encompassed the paper, spilling his thoughts, his worries, his heart for her to see. Finally, he set the pen carefully beside his work, and then picked up the paper to read what he'd written.

_Pippi,_

_ I'm writing this instead of saying it to your face because I'm a coward. A complete and utter coward. Somehow, whenever I think about saying these things my mind goes completely blank and my tongue fills my mouth. I'm afraid to say too much. To make things worse than they already are. Hell—I know this doesn't make sense and I'm so sorry for that. Just please, please, know that if there were any other way—any way at all—I'd choose it. I'd do anything to not have to leave. God, I just—I just don't want to leave._

_ I've screwed up so many things in my life, Clary, and I won't let you be one of them. I won't let you become a casualty in this messed up game I call my life—not when I can help it. I wish . . . I wish I could tell you . . . to make you understand. I know someday this will make sense and I hope that on that day you'll forgive me for what I had to do. I hope you'll know that everything I do, I do to protect you and my family. You mean . . . everything, just—everything, to me._

_ I'm rambling. I know I'm rambling. It's just, I'm looking at you sleeping in my bed and I want so much to crawl in next to you and fall asleep too. I want to wrap you up and keep you with me always. And I'm fighting the urge to do just that. God, you don't know how badly I want that._

_ I'm sorry about last night. I'm sorry I said no. If you knew—if you had any idea—just how much I wanted to say yes . . . Yes, I wanted to say yes. I almost said yes. I wish I'd said yes . . . But it would've been wrong of me. Right? Hell, now I'm second guessing myself—no, it would have been wrong. _

_But, Pippi, please know that I didn't reject you, it wasn't a rejection, it was a . . . "not now". I knew you were hurting, that I'd hurt you, and I would have given anything to take that away. And when you asked me, for a split second I considered it, but I knew it would end up hurting both of us more in the long run. _

_When we do—and we will, someday—I want it to be everything you deserve it to be. Not as a last second decision, not when you're sad, not when I'm getting ready to leave . . . but when I'm getting ready to stay. I want to stay, Clary. So badly, I want to be staying. On that day—when I get to stay—if you still want me, I'll say yes. I'll say yes until I can't utter another word. And from that point on, I'll only ever say yes. When you ask me to stay, when you ask me to love you, when you ask me to kiss you, when you ask me to hold you, when you ask me to be with you, my answer will always and only be yes. _

_In fact, I'm going to give you one in advance. You asked me last night if I'd ever come back, but you didn't let me answer. You should've let me answer, Pippi. It would have been so easy to say. I wanted to say it. And now I will. It's only one word. One word with three little letters . . . Yes._

_No matter what happens between now and when I see you again—and I __will __ see you again—just remember . . . just remember, I love you. Always, Clary. Always._

- _Jace_

Drawing in a breath, Jace folded the letter and slipped it into an envelope, sealing it and writing Clary's name across the front. A rustling drew his attention back to the bed. He turned and saw Clary stirring. Shoving the note into his back pocket, he stood and crossed the room, sitting back down on the edge of the bed just as she stretched and yawned. Jace smiled and reached out, running a finger along her cheek.

Clary opened her eyes slowly, blinking to clear them of the bleariness of sleep.

"Hey," Jace said, his fingers still tracing her skin, unwilling to remove his touch from her.

She frowned. "You let me fall asleep."

He grinned again. "Only for a bit."

"Hmm." She stretched again and sat up, her hair a mass of tangles, but Jace thought she'd never looked more beautiful.

He kept his eyes trained on her, trying to ingrain how she looked right then into his memory. He wanted to remember her this way, slightly sleepy and not quite yet aware.

She turned to him and raised a brow. "What?"

He lowered his gaze. "Nothing. I was just . . . looking."

When he glanced back up, her eyes locked on his, and in that instant, he watched the sleep leave her stare and realization take its place. She sucked in a shaking breath and bit her lip.

Jace cupped her cheeks and shook his head, swiping his thumbs under her eyes when moisture started to build. "No more." He leaned in and kissed her lightly. "Please. I just want to see you smile. No more tears."

Clary drew in another breath, held it, and nodded, forcing a smile. "Okay. I'll try." Wrapping her arms around him, she leaned into his shoulder. He closed his eyes and brushed his lips against her hair. With a sigh, she glanced up at him. "I should at least brush my teeth."

He chuckled and pushed back a chunk of hair hanging stubbornly across her cheek. "Okay."

Her eyes turned serious and slightly paniced. "Don't go anywhere," she whispered.

He shook his head and left a kiss on her forehead. "I won't."

She nodded and let out a relieved breath before standing and stretching. Jace watched as she walked to the door, his eyes unable to leave her until she stole into the hall. He turned his gaze back to his room. Everything was so still, so silent. He lowered his face to his hands and rubbed them over it. Taking a deep breath, he stood and went to his closet, grabbing his bag from the shelf. He pulled it down and with it came a small black box. He picked it up, a lump forming in his throat. Opening the lid, he ran his fingers over the delicate metal. Closing it once more, he shoved it into his pocket with the letter and proceeded to his dresser, pulling out whatever clothing he could fit into the bag. Once it was full, he turned, his eyes falling on his guitar. Taking slow steps forward, he reached out, running his finger along the neck. Without even thinking, he wrapped his hand around it and lifted. It felt good to hold it, to feel the familiar wood and strings in his grasp. Suddenly, he felt the urge to play. To drown the growing ache with music—just how he always had.

Turning away, he took it with him and sat slowly on the edge of his bed. His fingers plucked at the strings as he loosened or tightened them to the correct tune. Once he was satisfied they were all in tune, he strummed a chord, closing his eyes as the strings cut into his fingers and the vibrations flowed through him. He continued to strum, feeling as the music engulfed him, dulling the emotion rising within him.

He didn't know how long he played before he felt the bed shift beneath him. Even though he knew she had returned, he didn't open his eyes or stop. After a moment, he felt her arms wrap around him from behind, and her lips touch the skin of his shoulder. He took in a shuddering breath as a swell of sadness built inside him. Her hands moved against his skin, touching so softly, so carefully and her mouth left small kissed to his neck. Part of him wanted to turn around and kiss her back, hold her in his own arms, but the other part wanted to stay right where he was, allowing the music to work through them both, allowing them to feel, but also calming them at the same time.

Clary strengthed his idea when her lips slid up his neck and hovered at his ear, and she whispered, "Sing for me."

He sighed. "I don't have anything but sadness right now."

"That's okay," she said. "Me too."

He swallowed and turned his face toward her, capturing her lips for a brief moment before taking in a breath and starting to strum and sing just like she asked.

_*If all the flowers faded away  
And if all the storm clouds decided to stay  
Then you would find me each hour the same  
'Cause she is tomorrow and I am today_

'Cause if right is leaving I'd rather be wrong  
She is the sunlight and the sun is gone

Her hands drew lightly up his arms, causing goosebumps to erupt over his flesh, but he didn't stop. His fingers curled around the neck, pressing firmly to the strings while his other hand strummed out the rhythm.

_And if loving her is a heartache for me  
And if holding her means that I have to bleed  
Then I am the martyr and love is to blame_

_'Cause she is the healing and I am the pain_

_ She lives in a daydream where I don't belong  
She is the sunlight and the sun is gone_

Clary continued to touch him, her forehead pressed against the back of his neck. He felt her breath fan over his skin and knew when it shuddered with restraint.

_And it will take this life of regret_

_For my heart to learn to forget_

_Tomorrow will be as it always has been_

_And I will fall to her again_

_For I know I've come too close_

_'Cause if right is leaving I'd rather be wrong_

_'Cause she is the sunlight and the sun is gone_

His throat tightened, and he breathed in, trying to dispel it, but it wouldn't budge. Clary seemed to know this and her grip on him tightened, her lips dancing over his flesh in an effort to soothe him. But, no matter what she did, the grief stayed and his voice showed it as the last line came out shaky.

_She is the sunlight and the sun is gone _

Her hands kept touching him, but it wasn't enough. He set his guitar aside and reached behind him, pulling her around and placing her on his lap. His arms immediately wrapped around her, holding her tightly to his chest. He buried his face in her hair and placed his ear against her chest, breathing in deeply and listening to the steady rhythm of her heart. Her hands made their way into his hair and her lips brushed the top of his head. Jace felt as his fingers curled into her flesh, trying their hardest to hold her there. Clary's breathing faltered when he turned his face toward her, his lips sliding along the space at the base of her neck. He let out a breath and she shivered, her grip on his hair tightening.

Glancing up, Jace caught her stare. She lowered her forehead to his and closed her eyes. "I don't want you to go," she said.

Instead of answering with words, Jace reached up and cupped his hand around the back of her neck. Lifting his chin, he met her mouth with his. It felt the same as always, warm, soft, wet, but there was a subtle difference. Something that had never been present before—pain. Not physical pain, but the kind that gripped his heart and squeezed, nearly taking his breath with it.

Clary let out a gasp and kissed him back, clawing at his back in desperation to hold him closer. A soft knock at the door pulled Jace's attention away. He groaned and lowered his forehead to her shoulder.

A voice drifted through the door. "Sorry to . . . uh . . . interrupt, but . . ." Isabelle said.

Jace sighed and lifted Clary off from him and set her down on the bed. Standing, he moved to the door and opened it. Isabelle glanced over his shoulder, her eyes landing on Clary and then shifting back to his. They looked oddly wide and bright. She swallowed as if she was trying to collect herself.

"Michael is here," she said quietly, and Jace's chest squeezed. "And, Clary's mother is looking for her."

Clary jumped up and joined them in the doorway. "What does she—"

Isabelle held up a hand. "I told her you were asleep—in my room." She gave a small smile. "But she wants to see you."

Clary nodded and turned to Jace, lifting herself up to place a kiss to his cheek. "I'll be right back, all right?"

He smiled and nodded, then watched her go. Closing his eyes, he let out a slow breath and rubbed his forehead. When he opened them again, he was met by Isabelle's wide stare. She chewed on her bottom lip nervously.

He leaned against the doorframe. "So, I take it you know."

She nodded and glanced at the floor. "Mom told me, finally." She looked up. "This sucks."

He laughed. "I thought you'd be thrilled. You know, now you're finally rid of me and my assyness."

She chuckled and nudged him in the shoulder with her fist. "If you're gone, who else is supposed to annoy me by acting like the biggest ass known to man?"

"I'm sure you'll find someone."

The smile died from her lips and she glanced at the floor. "It won't be the same."

"Sure it will. I could probably give you some names if you'd like."

She glanced up. "They won't be you. They won't be my brother."

Before Jace had a chance to respond, Isabelle threw her ams around his waist and hugged him. He hesitated for a moment, not used to this type of physical display from her, before he laid his hands on her back.

"No matter what, you'll always be my brother," she said, squeezed him briefly, and then pulled away, brusing the strands of hair from her face. "You know, I should really kick your ass for this. Now, prove me wrong about your asshattyness and come back, okay?"

Jace grinned and was about to respond when he heard the door just up the hall opening and saw a sleepy Max appear. His eyes met Jace's and a scowl stretched across his face. He crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. "Mom said you were leaving us."

Jace swallowed and moved out into the hall, kneeling down in front of Max. Max moved his gaze away from Jace's face and continued to glare at the wall. "Hey, listen." He tried to make Max look at him, but Max jerked his face out of Jace's grasp. Jace sighed and glanced down. "I'm sorry, Max."

Max finally turned to him, his voice tight. "Why are you going? Don't you like us anymore?"

Jace's head snapped up. "Of course I do! I wish I didn't have to go, Max. Believe me."

"Then why are you?"

Jace sighed. "Sometimes we have to do things we don't want to when we get bigger. This is one of those things."

Max studied him carefully, his stance loosening. "Are you coming back?"

Jace closed his eyes briefly and spoke honestly. "I hope so."

Max lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Jace's neck with such force he almost knocked him over. "Don't worry," Max whispered. "I'll save all the comics for you and we'll read them when you get back."

A throat cleared behind him and Max let go. Jace turned toward the sound and found Maryse standing there, her face a blank slate but her eyes spoke volumes as to her emotional state. "The car is waiting for you, Jace."

He stood slowly, his chest tightening with every inch he rose. His eyes moved across the faces in front of him. All of them familiar and safe. These people were with whom he belonged. They were his family. No amount of distance or separation would change that. They cared for him and he for them. They'd protected him for five years and now it was his turn to return the favor. No, not favor—honor.

Jace nodded and stepped back into his room, gathering his bag and placing his guitar in its case and flinging it onto his back. He looked around his room one last time and crossed the threshold once more. Isabelle and Max had retreated down the stairs, but Maryse had remained. She stood at the top of the steps, her eyes trained on him as he closed his door behind him. He stepped up to her.

She stared at him and then raised her hand, resting her palm tentatively against his cheek—a gesture she'd never offered before. "I'm sorry for keeping all this from you. I hope, now that you know, that you understand why I had to." She closed her eyes and sighed before opening them once more. "Not that I'm trying to use that as an excuse, it's just—the way it was, and I'm sorry for it." Her eyes met his once more. "But no matter what you may think of me now, please just know that I have always thought of you as my son. You _are_ my son. And you always will be."

Jace looked unwaveringly into her eyes. "I know that." And he did. Without a doubt, he'd never questioned that.

She smiled and patted his cheek, sucking in a sharp breath as she turned and started down the steps. He followed, each step seeming to stretch further and further in front of him. Time slowed and every second felt hours long. He wished they really were.

When they reached the bottom, Michael stood in the foyer, two of his armed men flanked his side. Jace swallowed and stepped up to him. Michael looked down at him, his eyes filled with regret. "Are you ready?"

"Do I have a choice?" Jace asked.

"Yes, you do."

Jace sighed. "You know that's not true."

Michael reached out and patted Jace's shoulder. "I know, son." He slipped the guitar strap from Jace and took it to himself, guiding Jace out the door and into the bright sunlight. Jace squinted against it as his foot hit the wooden deck.

The day appeared to be the same as any other day. Light stretched across the dew covered grass and trees swayed lightly in the breeze. The familiar scents wafted through the air, acting as a cover for what this day really was. It was change, loss, death.

Jace's eyes scanned the vicinity, searching for the one person he needed to see. Finally, she spied her, standing at the edge of the lawn with her mother's arm holding her to her side. Clary's eyes were large and her lip trembled, but there were no tears, just as he'd asked. He couldn't help the smile that tweaked his lips.

He turned to the Lightwood's once more. They were all huddled together, arms around each other. He felt a pang of longing to be enveloped in that circle as well, but he knew he didn't belong there anymore. He'd made his choice, and although he did it to protect them, he knew what it cost him to make it.

Jace looked down. "Thank you," he said. "For everything. Putting up with me and just . . . everything."

Isabelle turned her face into Maryse's chest and Maryse hugged her tighter against her. "Of course," she said.

He nodded and backed away, a pressure growing in his chest that made being in their presence uncomfortable. Making his way down the stairs, his eyes fell on Clary once more. Her mother had moved back, leaving Clary on her own as she stared at him. He moved forward, his heart willing him to move faster, but his brain telling him to go slower and just savor looking at her. In the end, his heart won and he found himself standing before her. She looked up at him, the sadness in her green eyes cutting into his soul. Without another thought, he dropped his bag and pulled her into his arms, closing his eyes as she hugged him back.

"Don't say it," she said, and he knew exactly what she meant.

"I'm not going to." He kissed the top of her head and pulled back, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the letter and small black box he'd put there earlier. He glanced down at it, his finger running over the smooth, crisp paper. "This is for you. But—don't open it until I leave."

Clary sucked in a sharp breath and held it. He knew she was trying to ward off tears. "Okay." She reached out and wrapped her fingers around it, but he held firm as she tried to take it from him.

He leaned forward and touched his forehead to hers. "When you read this, know that I meant every word. And just because I'm leaving doesn't dimish their meaning."

She nodded, her breathing becoming more and more uneven. He loosened his grasp and she tucked the letter and box into her hoodie pocket. Reaching up, he cupped her cheeks and rested his lips against her forehead. Her hands came up and gripped his waist. He could feel them trembling.

"I love you," she whispered. "Always."

He squeezed his eyes shut and tilted her face up, kissing her one last time before he dropped his hands, picked up his bag, and turned away. If he stayed there in her arms a second longer, he wouldn't be able to force himself to move. The uncomfortable feeling built even further and he had to stop breathing in order to calm it. The car seemed miles away, but his feet pulled him toward it regardless. But the further he got from her, the harder it became to move.

Jace's steps grew slower, dragging, almost impossible. He felt eyes on his back and the sensation squeezed his chest even more. His heart sped and thudded hard against his ribs, so hard it was almost painful. The closer he got to the vehicle, the less his legs wanted to move. He sucked in, trying desperately to to fill his lungs, but no matter how many breaths he took, he still couldn't breathe. The ache inside grew until it felt as though his heart would stop from the sheer force of it.

Finally, he reached the door and tried to open it, but his hand wouldn't move. He glanced down and saw it trembling. Closing his eyes, he clenched his fist and tried to regulate his breathing. But nothing made the pain go away, nothing made it diminish. His ribs ached, his head pounded, and his eyes burned. He tried once more to reach out, to just close his fingers around the handle, but his body froze. The bag he'd slung over his shoulder slid down the length of his arm and thudded to the ground. He couldn't do this. For so long he'd prided himself on being strong. On being able to shut off his feelings and just do what he had to do to survive. But this wasn't surving. This was dying. Everything inside him screamed this was wrong. With every step, he died a little more, and he knew that the next one would kill him completely. The one that took him away from this life, this family, _her_. It would be the last. The one that would cement his fate and rob him of his future. The future he'd finally allowed himself to believe in. In a matter of seconds, it would all be gone.

Jace lowered his head and clenched his lids tighter, trying to gather the strength to walk away. Instead, he felt his body turning, involuntarily, back toward where she stood. It was as if he couldn't control it anymore. He needed her, ached for her touch, just one last time. One more feel of the warmth of her hand, one more brush of her lips against his.

Opening his eyes, he met hers. They were wide and filled with so much emotion, it immediately squeezed his heart once more. She was still holding back, doing exactly as he'd asked and forcing herself not to cry. Her lip trembled and her hands were fisted tightly at her side as if it was all she could do to hold on.

Jace felt the pressure building inside, rushing to the surface with the force of a speeding train. He took in and held his breath, trying so hard to hold it back. But there was no stopping it, and it exploded out of him in a gush of air, his vision blurring and his feet moving of their own accord.

In fewer steps than it took him to reach the car, he reached her, his hands taking her face between them and his lips crashing to hers. He heard gasps and felt wetness on his cheeks. For a moment he thought it was her, but when the unbearable tightness in his throat and stinging in his eyes became apparent, he knew then it was him.

Her hands came up and mimicked his hold on his own face. He felt her tremble and collapse into him, her body warm and safe and comfortable. Her mouth soft and wet, tasting of sweet mint, and sadness, and her. He clutched her tightly against him, his body convulsing around her with the release of the pain and fear he'd held for so long. He knew it was weak, he knew he was losing control but he couldn't stop it from happening.

Removing his lips from hers, he buried his face into her hair, greedily taking in her scent and filling himself with her essence. Just a little longer, he told himself. Just a few more seconds and then he could pull himself together. But the seconds passed and the ache grew. The pressure in his chest coiling so tight he felt as though it would break any moment.

Clary's hands moved to his hair, combing through the strands as soothingly as they could even though they shook.

"It's okay." Her voice reached his ears. "It's going to be okay."

He wrapped his arms around her back and held her closer. "I can't."

"You can," she said.

He squeezed his eyes shut, the foreign wetness falling over his cheeks. Moving back slightly, he pressed his forehead to hers. Her hands came up and moved over his cheeks, wiping his tears away. He opened his eyes and met hers. They gleamed with unshed grief, though her mouth held a sad smile.

"You're so beautiful, even when you cry," she whispered, her voice catching. To anyone else, it may have seemed an odd thing to say. But to Jace, it meant that she didn't find him weak or pitiable in that moment. She meant exactly what she said. In his most broken down and vulnerable state, she still thought he was beautiful. She stood on tip-toes and kissed his cheeks, first the left and then the right, then she touched her mouth to his and he could taste the saltiness of his tears on her lips.

"I need you to tell me," he said, his face still pressed against hers. "I can't do it unless you tell me."

"Tell you what?" Her breath fell over him, causing the pain inside to increase ten-fold.

He let out a slow breath. "I need you to tell me to go."

A small whimper escaped from her throat. "Jace . . ."

"Please, Pippi," he whispered, his hands smoothing the tangled locks away from her face. "Tell me to go."

Instead of speaking, Clary tightened her grip on him, finding his lips with her own, kissing him like she needed it to breathe. He grabbed her face once more, opening to her, taking all of her he could get and not caring who saw. After a few moments, she pulled back, keeping her forehead against his. She drew in a deep breath and held it for what seemed like an eternity before she spoke. "Go."

The word barely made a sound as it passed her lips, but it was enough to fill him with the strength necessary to move, to do what he had to do. His hands fell to his side and his face dropped away from hers. He pressed a soft kiss to her jaw just below her ear, breathing her in one last time, and lingering there as he breathed, "Thank you."

She nodded, her body trembling almost violently with restraint.

He closed his eyes, and turned away, whispering the last words he would say to her. "I love you."

His feet carried him forward, forcing him to move even though his ears registered the thud of her knees hitting the ground, the pattering of footsteps running toward her, and the chocked sobs and moans he knew were racking her chest. He bent to pick up his bag, his heart hammering against his ribs so painfully, if he didn't know better he would have sworn they were about to break. Pain swelled and crested as his fingers gripped the door handle and he pulled it open.

Nothing felt real as he slid onto the leather seat and slammed the door shut behind him. He stared straight ahead, barely noticing when Michael turned toward him, his eyes pained and lips moving. Jace couldn't comprehend a word he said. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to shut himself off to the chaotic sensations building inside him.

"Drive," he said, his voice sounding empty and dead even to him. "Just drive."

Michael sighed and turned away from Jace, saying something to the driver. Jace felt the vehicle move beneath him and he closed his eyes once more, willing the emotion back. But it was no use. He reached up and gripped his hair tightly in his fists, bent over, and let out the agonizing breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His heart shattered into a million pieces as the bottled up emotion poured out of him. The further he got from the people he loved, the faster it came. Wave upon wave of grief, anger, and loss, spilling over and filling the car with the sounds of his pain.


	30. Through the Motions

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

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_**Chapter 30: Through the Motions**_

_Chapter Songs:_

_**For You Only – Trading Yesterday _

_**When You're Gone – Avril Lavigne_

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Business men carrying briefcases while talking into Bluetooth devices attached to their ears, and haggard looking mothers carrying screaming babies, moved up and down the crowded hallways of the terminal. Sound infiltrated every nook, yet Jace didn't hear a thing. His eyes stared straight ahead into the teeming horde, yet he saw nothing. He was aware of where he was and what he was doing. Though some small part of him hoped it was just a horrible nightmare—one he'd wake up from and find himself two days into the past before any of this had happened. But he knew that was just wishful thinking. This was his life now. What he had then, what he'd had so close in his grasp, was nothing but a memory.

"Flight 213 to Orlando is now boarding." A flight attendant's voice carried over the loud speakers.

Michael nudged Jace's shoulder. "That's us, kid." He stood and Jace followed.

"Finally, I get to go to Disney World. Yay," he said with not an ounce of enthusiasm or inflection.

Michael sighed but didn't say any more.

Jace handed his ticket to the girl at the gate. She smiled at him politely, but he just stared straight ahead. He didn't even bother to respond when she told him to have a nice flight.

The plane was cramped and, as Jace's luck would have it, the woman with the crying infant sat right in front of him. It annoyed him, but he didn't have the energy to care, even when the kid burped a little too hard and spit up all over his mother's shoulder. Jace just sighed and looked away. The flight attendants started their instruction spiel, but Jace didn't hear a word. Instead, his mind was full of the ones he'd walked away from. The ones who probably felt betrayed that he'd gone. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cool window, wishing he could just fall asleep. Just for a little while and escape the reality that was unfolding around him.

He'd almost succumbed when he felt something slide into his lap. He opened his eyes and glanced down, spying the manila envelope with his name scrawled across the top in a familiar hand. His heart lurched as his fingers passed over the writing and he raised his eyes to Michael.

"This was on my seat when I got to the car, along with a note asking me to wait to give it to you." His eyes met Jace's. "I think I've waited long enough."

Jace lowered his gaze back to the envelope. He held his breath and slipped his fingers under the flap, tearing it away from where it attached, and thrust his hand inside. A small leather bound book came out in his hands, one he recognized as one of Clary's many sketchbooks. With a shaking breath, he flipped open the cover. On the very first page, she'd written: _So you never forget. ~Clary_

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, feeling the plane speed as it raced toward take off. The sound of the engines roared and the seats vibrated beneath him, but the only thing he could hear was her voice whispering in his ear, the only thing he felt was her touch on his face, her lips pressed against his. His heart pounded in his chest and finally the plane lifted, pressure crowding into his ears and a heaviness pushing down on his stomach.

Jace opened his eyes and stared down at the book. With shaking fingers, he flipped to the next page. Sketched over the smooth sheet was an image of him, standing across the soccer field in his favorite hoodie. It had been drawn as if it was taken from the perspective of someone in the stands, someone with a sketchbook lying in her lap. He turned the page and the next one depicted two people, a boy and a girl, kneeling over a box of spilled books and trophies. The boy gazed at the girl with a cocky expression while she looked at him with embarrassed annoyance. Jace couldn't help but smile at the memory the drawing evoked. Even then, she'd fascinated him. He just didn't know what that had meant at the time.

As he continued to flip through the book, scenes from their relationship stared back at him. Him at the piano and her watching from the window, both of them sitting on the swings at the park, the dance at the club, the one at the school dance, their first kiss, their first date, him holding her as she broke down, all of it, every moment that made up who they were together was there, drawn by her own hand. A small smile pulled at his lips and he closed the book, clutching it tightly in his grasp as he stared out at the white expanse below him. Even without the reminder, he would never forget. He could never forget.

.o.O.o.

Seconds turned to minutes. Minutes to hours and hours to days.

Ten to be exact.

Ten whole days without him. Without the comfort of his voice, the reassurance of his smile, or the electricity of his touch. Ten days without all of the things she never knew she couldn't live without. Ten days wondering, waiting, hoping.

Clary sighed and leaned her head against the cool glass, her eyes fixed on the dark window across from hers. Sometimes she imagined the dull glow coming from between the curtains once more. If she closed her eyes and thought really hard, she could even hear the sounds of a guitar strumming from inside. But when she opened them, all she saw was the cold, stillness of the dark. And every time, her heart fractured a little more. No one understood just how bad it was. Just how empty she felt. Though, Clary tried her hardest not to let them. Her mother and Simon had already lived through her grief after Jonathan, they didn't need to go through it again. And Isabelle was dealing with the loss herself. It wouldn't be fair to burden her either. So, she kept it inside, letting it overtake and deaden her once more.

After that first day, after she'd shattered completely as she watched him walk away, she hadn't allowed the pain out for anyone else to see. Her mother studied her with weary eyes, no doubt waiting for her to break down again, and asked her constantly if she was okay. She wanted to slam her fist to the table and scream that no, she wasn't all right and never would be if people constantly reminded her of what she'd lost. But she didn't do that. Instead, she fixed a smile on her face and nodded politely. It was all she could do. She didn't want the looks of pity this time any more than she'd wanted them before. That's how people treated her, like a fragile, broken little girl who was grieving a death. But Jace wasn't dead. He was just gone. He'd turned his back and left.

Clary closed her eyes and breathed against the swell of anger igniting inside her. But no matter what she did, she couldn't quell it completely. She was angry. So angry. Angry at the situation, at life, at God, at _him_. She knew she shouldn't be, that he'd told her this was the only choice. But her heart didn't understand. _She_ didn't understand. All she knew was that he'd turned away. He'd said he loved her and he turned away. He'd walked out of her life, leaving her with nothing but a letter and a little black box.

Her fingers tightened around the now well-worn paper. She clutched it to her chest, the words written on it memorized. _Always, Clary_, he'd written in closing. "Always," he'd whispered before he took those thirteen steps that removed him from her life. But how could he have meant it? How could he love her "always" when he didn't call, he didn't write, he was just . . . gone.

Clary shook her head and blinked against the feeling surging up inside her. Why was she so mad at him? He'd said he was doing the only thing he could to protect her, to protect all of them. But from what? From whom? Maybe if she understood or knew the reasons why, maybe she could push aside the anger and just miss him. But as it was, she had no idea and therefore, the anger stayed, festering and building the longer he was absent.

Her fingers traveled to her wrist and fiddled with the charm bracelet dangling there. They traced over the puffed heart with the letter C etched into it and then paused when she reached the newest addition. She closed her eyes and fought against the tightening in her throat.

When Jace had handed her the letter and the box before he left, she hadn't really even comprehended what he was giving her. The only thing she could focus on was that he was going. He was really going. She wanted to grab onto him and beg him to stay. To hold him there and not allow him to take another step. But instead, she told him to go just as he'd asked. She'd never regretted a single word more.

It had taken close to five hours for her mother to console her enough to get her to fall asleep. She didn't change into pajamas, she didn't remove the ponytail from her hair, she didn't brush her teeth. She just curled up on her bed, her body wrapped in Jace's hoodie, until sleep finally claimed her. It wasn't until the morning light crept in through her closed curtains and she opened her eyes, that she remembered he'd given her anything at all.

Her fingers had trembled and her throat tightened as she'd read his words. His beautiful words. But she didn't cry. She was completely dried out and numb. Even if she'd wanted to, she wasn't sure she could have. Her fingers had slipped over the small black box and she took in a breath before lifting the cover. A small printed card lay on top. When she picked it up, it revealed a small charm—a thin line of gold twisted in and around itself creating an endless knot—hiding underneath. She read the words on the card:

_The Knot_

_Two continuous, unbroken loops that are intertwined and inseparable from each other. For many, this Celtic symbol represents eternity...the eternity of life, the eternity of nature, and the eternity of love. _

It wasn't until Clary had flipped the card over, that she recognized its significance. There, stretching across the back was a single sentence written in his hand.

_I've already given you my heart, this is just to remind you how long you have it._

Clary rubbed the small charm between her fingers and continued to gaze out the window. Her eyes fixed on a yellowed leaf pulling against the breeze and hanging on to its branch for dear life. Another gust blew through and the leaf snapped free, tumbling and spiraling against the gust, meandering its way down, never knowing when it would reach the ground. The only thought Clary comprehended at that moment was just how much she could relate to that leaf.

.o.O.o.

Wave upon wave crashed over the shore, spilling across the wet sand and over Jace's feet. He stared out at the expanse of ocean before him, breathing in the scents of salt and sea. The water churned against the threatening gray sky above it, the wind warning of the storm to come. A chilly snatch of wind blew across the beach, lifting sand into the air and pummeling it into Jace, the tiny specks pinging against his skin. He knew he should go back to the house, but he wasn't ready quite yet.

Here, in this place, watching a storm brew, was where he found his solace. Where his mind cleared and allowed him to just be. There was no new school, no new name, no aching hole in his heart. It was just him. Just the him he really was deep inside. The one that belonged once more. Not the withdrawn, loner he'd become.

He wished he could make it go away, the feelings that held him back from forging any new relationships. The ones that made it feel wrong of him. He knew, deep inside, that making new friends wasn't bad or wrong, but he just couldn't force himself to do it. The fact that he couldn't even communicate with his old ones, tell them goodbye or that he was all right, cemented his hesitation. It wasn't fair to them, but Michael insisted he cut off all contact. No email, no phone calls, no letters. Zero. Nada. Zilch.

Jace argued him on it, even tried to sneak in a call or two. Somehow, Michael always knew and promptly took his phone away. He warned Jace that any misstep on any of their parts could put those he cared about in danger. After pushing aside his stubborn pride, Jace agreed and hadn't tried to skirt the rules again.

He could only imagine what they thought of him. Isabelle, Max . . . Clary. It wouldn't surprise him if they felt betrayed, like he'd just up and left and decided to never contact them again. He knew if it were him, he would have felt that way. But he told himself that it would be worth their anger and possibly even hatred, as long as they stayed safe. This was what his head said. Unfortunately, his heart didn't agree.

Jace sighed, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked back to the house. Michael had to work late and Jace promised him he'd pass out candy to the local trick-or-treaters. He moved up the rickety wood steps when a loud shriek of laughter peeled through the quiet. Jace turned toward it, his eyes falling on a group of children making their way from house to house, their faces covered by masks or paint, and buckets filled with candy hanging from their arms. He pulled out his keys and hurriedly shoved the correct one into the lock, twisting until the door swung open. Just as the kids made their way up the steps, he grabbed the bowl and turned.

A boy dressed as Buzz Lightyear stepped up first and held his bag open. Jace dropped a few candies inside for him. Another boy, dressed as Spiderman came next.

"Trick or treat!" He beamed and held his plastic pumpkin pail out in front of him.

Jace raised a brow. "What if I said trick?"

The boy stared at him, his mouth hanging open. "Huh?"

Jace chuckled and dropped a handful of candy, hearing it patter against the sides of the bucket. "Never mind."

He glanced down and shook his head, laughing to himself as the little boy tramped down the steps.

"I can give you a trick, if you want." A little girl's voice rang out.

Jace looked up, his heart plunging into his stomach as his eyes took in the knee high striped socks, blue jumper dress, and the double-braided red wig on the little girl's head. He swallowed against the lump forming in his throat. "You could, could you?" His voice trembled a little as memories of another girl's red braids invaded his mind.

"Yeah, but I'd rather have candy."

Without hesitating, Jace grabbed her bag and dumped the entire bowl into it.

The girl's eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open. "Wow! What was that for?"

Jace smiled. "For having the best costume."

.o.O.o.

Fall gave way to winter and soft, powdery snow clung to empty branches and filled Clary's vision with white. She stood on her front porch, a heavy coat wrapped around her body, while knit, multi-colored gloves and a hat covered her hands and head. She moved down the steps and raised her face to the sky, allowing the slow falling flakes to rest upon her face, melting into drops as they slid down her cheeks. A smile stretched across her face as she stood there, alone, listening to the silence surrounding her, and watching her breath puff up into white clouds.

It had been a long time since she'd felt peace like this. Always, the thoughts of what she'd lost over the past several months came back to haunt her in some way. But finally, nine months after Jonathan's death and almost three months after Jace's departure, she could finally smile and genuinely feel some semblance of happiness. The ache was still there, never going away completely, and sometimes still feeling unbearable, but those instances were lessening and she could push it aside better than before.

"Clary!" Isabelle called.

Clary turned toward the voice and spied Isabelle and Max trudging across the yard, clad in heavy boots and coats, hats and mittens just like her. Behind her, Isabelle pulled a long red sled. Max jumped on it, causing Isabelle to lose her grip and pitch forward, landing face-first into the snow.

Clary clamped a hand over her mouth as Max squealed with laughter.

"Oh, you think that's funny, do you?" Isabelle asked from her position on the ground, snow falling in clumps from her hat and dripping down her face.

"Um hmm." Max nodded while trying to contain his giggles.

Isabelle scooped up a handful of snow and lunged forward, rubbing it in Max's face. "Now how funny do you think it is?"

He wiped his face, his cheeks and nose glowing bright red from the cold. "Still pretty hilarious, Iz."

"What did I miss?" Simon asked as he trudged across the yard, his hands shoved into his pockets and shoulders hunched against the cold.

"They're laughing at me," Isabelle pouted.

Simon gave her a sympathetic look and leaned down to kiss her reddened nose. Clary grinned despite the ache the action brought to her heart. As much as she missed all those touches and kisses and sweet words, she was happy for Simon and Isabelle. In an ironic twist, they'd tried to hide their relationship at the start as well, thinking it would hurt Clary to know. It did make her miss Jace even more, but she couldn't begrudge her best friends of something as wonderful as this. If there was one thing she'd learned from having Jace and then losing him, it was that time was precious. Every second, every moment she had with him was a gift, and she didn't regret a single one.

"What happened?" Simon asked, brushing the melting snow from Isabelle's hat.

She relayed the incident and Simon scrunched his face, looking pretty much constipated. Clary started to laugh again because she knew that face. It was Simon's holy-hell-that's-freaking-hilarious-but-I-better-n ot-laugh-or-Isabelle-will-make-me-less-of-a-man look.

Isabelle stood slowly, her eyes narrowing and her hand tightening around a fistful of snow. "So you think it's funny too, huh?"

Simon raised his palms in protest, taking a step back. Isabelle lunged after him. He ran up the street, screaming his innocence back to her, but she just kept on coming. Clary and Max laughed so hard both ended up rolling on the ground holding their sides.

After a long afternoon of sledding and snowball fights, they all gathered around the Lightwood's dining room table, sipping hot chocolate and munching on freshly baked chocolate chip cookies made from ready-made dough. Clary shivered against the slight wetness of her sweatshirt. Isabelle frowned and stood, motioning for Clary to follow.

Clary furrowed her brows and moved behind her regardless.

"We need to get you out of those wet clothes before you catch pneumonia," Isabelle said as they ascended the stairs.

Clary scoffed. "You can't catch pneumonia from being cold and wet, Izzy."

Isabelle looked back and narrowed her eyes. "Humor me."

"Okay." Clary laughed, but that laughter died out as soon as she reached the top of the stairs and passed in front of the now empty room she'd spent so much time in. Her footsteps faltered and a shaky breath escaped her lips.

Isabelle stopped and walked back to Clary, throwing her arm over her shoulder and helping her move away from the room. "It's still hard, isn't it?"

Clary nodded, but didn't speak, afraid her voice would shake. It was beyond hard. Every reminder was excruciating.

They entered Isabelle's room, and Isabelle stopped in front of her closet, wringing her hands and biting her lip.

"What's wrong?" Clary asked.

"Nothing. I'm—just not so sure I should give you this."

"What?"

Isabelle sighed and reached into her closet, grabbing a gift bag that sat on the top of her closet shelf. She fingered the handles for a moment before meeting Clary's eyes. "I managed to steal this before Mom cleared out his room." She held out the bag, dangling it off her pointer finger.

Clary swallowed and took a step forward, taking the bag carefully, her heart pounding in her chest. Her eyes met Isabelle's.

"He would want you to have it," she said quietly.

Clary took in a deep breath and reached inside, her fingers closing around the folded softness and pulling it out. The bag dropped to the floor at her feet. Her breath hitched as her hand ran over the white and black fabric, her finger tracing the name and number stretched across the back. Clary felt her feet moving and sat on the edge of Isabelle's bed, her eyes glued to what she held in her hands.

Isabelle sat beside her and tucked her arm around Clary. "You okay?"

Clary nodded, but feeling anything but. The emotions she'd tramped down for months now rose again, faster and harder than they had in a long time. She looked up, meeting Isabelle's concerned gaze.

"I miss him," she said. Never before had such simple words been so heavy. "So much. I—God, it just hurts." She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting against the urge to give in to the sadness knowing it wouldn't help. It wouldn't take the pain away or change the fact that he wasn't there.

Isabelle pulled Clary to her, holding her head against her chest and running a hand up and down her back. "I know, Clary. I know."

.o.O.o.

The last of the Christmas decorations had been packed. No more lights twinkled in the darkness, no more cheery figurines graced the mantle. But even when it had, Jace didn't feel a single ounce of joy or contentment. With the new year rapidly approaching, Jace still felt empty.

Michael tried. Jace knew this. But his heart was not here, not with Michael and the people who now considered themselves his family. It was far away, probably buried under feet of snow and surrounded by laughter and hope for the new year. Jace didn't have any hope left. Not for what he truly wanted.

He wanted to go home.

Home. The term became more and more foreign to him as time passed. Part of him wondered if such a thing existed for him anymore. He hoped it did because there was so much he wanted to regain. So much he needed to have back. He missed the sibling banter that accompanied each day in the Lightwood's house, and Maryse trying her hardest to be his mother even when he fought against it. He missed Alec's gentle chastising when he acted like a douche, and the way Max's eyes lit up when Jace sprawled out on his bed with him to read the latest comic. He missed Robert's insistence that Jace do all the work on his car himself because "that's how you learn." But most of all, he missed the girl next door. The way his chest lightened the moment she walked into the room, and how his heart sped when her hand wrapped around his. The way he felt like he was finally home when he held her in his arms and kissed her lips. She was where he belonged. No amount of time or distance would ever change that for him.

Jace stood in the middle of the living room of the house he shared with Michael. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and even though it felt homey and warm, it wasn't home. It could never be home.

Jace wandered over to the corner where Michael had moved in a black Baby Grand. Jace drew his finger along the slick surface, feeling the urge to play for the first time since he'd come here. He sat on the bench, his eyes drawn to the wall of windows in front of him and the stark blackness of the ocean crashing to the shore outside of them. His eyes closed and he drew in a deep breath, his lungs filling, but the ache accompanying the space stayed the same. It never lessened, not when he laughed, not when he forced himself to forget. It was always still there, still . . . waiting.

His fingers moved into position over the keys, the coolness radiating a familiarity that was comforting. He closed his eyes and pressed down, the chord reverberating throughout the room and stirring something inside him. His mind shut down and he played. All the pain, all the loneliness, all the longing filled those four walls and encompassed him fully, squeezing in on him from every side. He wanted to escape it like he always had before. But this time it wouldn't leave. It just grew and grew until it was so unbearable he had to stop.

A choked sound escaped from his throat and he lowered his head to the piano in front of him, the disjointed sound of the compressed keys lingering in the quiet room. Jace didn't know how long he sat like that, hunched over with his forehead pressed down, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He stiffened and sat up. Turning slowly, he met his father's eyes. They looked sad and more troubled than he'd seen them before.

"You're unhappy." Michael stated the obvious.

"No," Jace lied, trying to spare his father's feelings. He'd done everything he could to make Jace comfortable. To give him what he needed. But the problem was, he couldn't give him what he really wanted.

Michael sighed and sat in a chair across from the piano bench. Jace spun around to face him.

"Yes, you are. You're a horrible actor."

Jace grinned and looked down. "Acting was never my strong suit."

Michael eyed Jace carefully. "What can I do to make it better? I hate seeing you like this."

Jace stood and walked over to the window, raising his hand and resting his fist against the glass. "Nothing. Nothing makes it better. Believe me, I've tried."

"You really cared for them, didn't you?" Michael's voice was quiet.

Jace closed his eyes for a moment. "I didn't know I did until I had to leave."

Michael stood and moved next to Jace, both of their gazes fixed on the crashing waves before them. "I know we haven't talked about this but—that scene with your girlfriend—"

Jace sucked in a breath at the mention of her.

"Well . . . in all the times I'd watched you over the years, I'd never seen you connect with someone that much. To attach yourself in that way. You were always so closed off, so contained . . ."

Jace stared ahead, his chest aching and his breathing shallow. "She's different. She's . . . special."

"Yes, I gather that." Michael was quiet for a few moments. "You love her."

It wasn't a question, but Jace answered anyway. He closed his eyes and nodded once.

"Do you want to go back there?"

A ray of hope burst forth inside him, but he quickly shoved it back under the oppressive weight of his despair. "Yes. But I know I can't. I know I would only put them in danger if I did."

"What if I said that there may be a way . . . a way to end this sooner rather than later?"

Jace whipped his head toward his father. "Tell me how."

Michael sighed. "It's dangerous and I'm not sure it will work."

Jace shook his head. "I don't care how dangerous it is. I'll do it."

Michael continued to stare out the window. "When I worked for your grandfather, I came to know your grandmother, Imogen. On the outside, she appeared to be just like them. Rich, snooty, all the things Stephen Sr. was. But she didn't agree with his 'business practices,' and she loved your father. More than her own life. And she liked your mother. She wanted them to be happy and was actually the one who made it possible for your father to 'stumble' on the files in the first place." Michael paused and glanced at Jace. "Out of fear for your safety and the possibility that knowing my whereabouts would lead them to you, I haven't tried to contact her. I'm still afraid to do so for fear that she's changed and given up her morals after Stephen's death. But, maybe . . . just maybe, if she knew a piece of Stephen still lives . . ." His eyes bored into Jace's. "Maybe she'd be willing to give up Stephen, Sr. once more—in order to save you from the same fate she tried to save Stephen from."

"If she didn't agree with what he was doing, why didn't she just give him up anyway?"

Michael shrugged. "Fear. Or maybe she just gave up after your father's death. I really couldn't say. I just know she hasn't and I'm pretty sure she still has those files somewhere."

Jace swallowed and thought about what his father was saying. There was a possibility, no matter how small it might seem, that he could get his old life back. That he could be the person he'd worked so hard to become, have a family, have—her. Everything he wanted was laid out in front of him, dangling from a hook almost within his grasp and all he had to do was reach out and grab it.

Resolve settled into the pit of his stomach and he turned to Michael, meeting his eyes. "Let's do it."

Michael gave him a sad smile and patted his back before looking back out the window. "Okay, son. Okay."


	31. Consequences

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

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_**Chapter 31: Consequences**_

_Chapter Songs:_

_**4:AM Forever – Lostprophets_

_**This is War – 30 Seconds to Mars_

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The bench felt hard and cold beneath Jace's legs. Even though the signs of early spring had made themselves known, the air still felt chilly against his skin. Of course, part of that could have to do with the fact that he'd just spent several months in Florida, where it was warmer in the winter than it was in New York now.

People passed by him, their hands in their pockets and their shoulders hunched. No one spared him a glace, and for that, he was glad. He wasn't ready to be seen. Not quite yet. In order to guard against recognition, he'd covered his newly short hair with a baseball cap, and then raised his hood over top of that. His eyes were disguised behind a pair of dark sunglasses. He knew he shouldn't be here, in this place, staring the way he was, especially since someone could see him, think he was a punk, and call the cops. But he couldn't help it. It had been so long and he just wanted to see her. He needed to see her, if only for a moment.

He'd only been back in town for a few days. After his discussion with his father about meeting his grandmother, he'd had to endure another two months of waiting. Michael assured Jace the wait was just a precaution to ensure Imogen Herondale was still on the up and up. He didn't want to risk any type of instance where she may give them up to save herself. Jace just wanted it over. He was tired of waiting. Tired of being so detached from everything and everyone he cared about. But there was no hurrying his father along. He was determined to do things in the least risky way. Jace knew it was for his own good, but he just couldn't stand watching the days pass on the calendar, knowing it was one more day away. One more day without them all. One more day without _her_.

Maybe they'd forgotten about him by now anyway. Maybe they'd moved on. A part of him hoped they had. He wouldn't wish what he felt on daily basis on anyone. Not even Julian—okay, maybe he wished it on him. That douchebag deserved this and more.

Jace's father insisted he meet with Imogen alone the first few times and gauge for himself her words and actions. It seemed she had no concrete proof that Celine's child was Stephen's. For now, he decided it was best to keep the confirmation from her. When he felt he could trust her, he would reveal the truth. Jace wondered how long it could really take to determine that, or if his father was stalling for other reasons.

The last five months had dragged so slowly. Anticipation was normally a good thing, but when waiting for your life to change—or begin again, as it were—it took on a whole new meaning. And not a pleasant one.

While he waited, Jace did what he could to keep himself busy and his mind occupied. It was difficult to maintain at all times, but he did his best. He did so well, in fact, that he had finished up all the credits he needed to graduate and walked at the January ceremony. It was a bit of a bittersweet moment. He had his father back, which was something he'd always wanted, even though he'd been angry with him for everything that had happened. But, he didn't get to share the moment with the people who had shown him the most care outside of his father. Maryse, Robert, Isabelle, Alec and Max. He wondered if any of them knew he'd actually graduated. If they knew anything at all about him. If they thought about him as much as he did them. Being a part of the Service themselves, he figured they'd be privy to information concerning him, but maybe because he'd lived with them, they were kept as much in the dark about him as he was about them.

He thought about them every day, wondering how college was going for Alec, and how Isabelle was fairing in tenth grade. Did Max still like comics? Was Alec still with Magnus? Did Isabelle finally find a guy who would not only put up with her control freak nature, but would also treat her the way she deserved? Did Max even like girls yet? Thoughts of them flitted through his mind during the course of the day. Some of them—mostly the ones that pertained to their well being—lingered longer, but the others just came and went as he moved through this new life.

It wasn't until the night, when he was all alone and covered by the blanket of the dark, that he allowed himself to think of _her_. As much as it pained him to not know about the others, when he thought of her, let himself miss her, it felt as fresh as the day he'd left. Like someone had shoved a blade through his heart and left him there, the wound spilling his life out onto the ground with no help in sight.

When Michael announced it was finally time to go to the city, to meet his grandmother, Jace couldn't comprehend the complex set of emotions that surged through him. Of course, there was the excitement and anticipation he'd expected, but what surprised him the most, was the excessive amount of fear. What if they were all so angry with him that they wouldn't see him? What would Clary say? How would she react to his reasons for leaving in the first place? Would she believe him?

Before he got ahead of himself with worry about what everyone would do, he had to first get through the meeting with Imogen Herondale. His father had said she seemed the same as she'd always been. She still harbored the same hatred and resentment toward Stephen Sr. and seemed more than willing to help—as long as she could meet Jace first. He had to admit, he felt nervous about whether or not things would go according to plan. What if she changed her mind? What if she stabbed them in the back? Jace didn't know her, didn't know what type of person she was. If he really thought about it, the fact that she hadn't done anything to this point to bring down the man who'd had his parents murdered, didn't really paint her in a very positive light in his eyes.

But she was all he had.

She was his only chance to regain some semblance of the life he'd had—or at least had been trying to have. He needed to believe this would work, because without that, he would have nothing left. No life, no identity, no hope.

His eyes strayed to the window of the small art store, hoping to see something, anything. He knew she'd be there. It was Wednesday, and she always worked on Wednesdays.

All he needed was a glimpse to determine if she was well, if she was happy. He hoped she was. He held no selfish notion that she should be suffering as he was. Maybe he'd finally outgrown his selfishness, because all he wanted was her happiness. With or without him.

As Jace sat, staring straight ahead and contemplating everything, he didn't notice when someone took a seat next to him. It wasn't until they spoke that he realized he'd been made.

"I had a suspicion that it was you sitting out here."

Jace startled and glanced to his side, his eyes taking in the burly, sandy-haired man beside him. He took in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "How'd you know it was me?"

Luke shrugged and glanced back at the store. "Just a hunch."

Jace nodded, not offering any more by way of conversation. Both of them just sat there, not speaking, not feeling the need to fill the space with needless chatter. Finally, though, Luke spoke again.

"Are you going to go in?"

Jace shook his head. "Not yet. Too dangerous."

Luke sighed. "I don't know what's going on, but I've had the feeling there was more to this than anyone knew."

"I can't talk about it," Jace said. "I just . . . I just needed to see her." He sat straighter when he noticed movement and a flash of red in the shop window. His heart thudded against his ribs, and he felt the indescribable urge to jump up from the bench and run into the store. He wouldn't, but God, if it wasn't hard not to. "How is she?" he asked quietly before meeting Luke's gaze.

Luke glanced at the window and leaned back into the bench. "She's okay."

"That's good." Jace nodded.

Luke chuckled and shook his head. "I didn't say she was good, I said she was okay."

Jace furrowed his brows. "What's that supposed to mean? Either she's okay or she's not. Which is it?"

Luke shifted on the bench and turned toward Jace. "On the outside, she looks fine. She smiles, she laughs, she hangs out with her friends and engages in conversation with people just as she always has. But to those of us who know her, really know her," he peeked back at the store before meeting Jace's eyes once more, "well, let's just say, we aren't fooled. She plays the part well. Knows just how to trick those who are unsuspecting. But we know. We know she's broken. She's angry. She's hurting."

Jace lowered his head into his hands. "I never wanted to hurt her. Never. I just—I couldn't do anything about it. I still can't—not yet."

Luke nodded and patted Jace's knee before standing. "I know, son. Just—do what you need to do. Fix whatever it is you're trying to fix, and then come back."

"I'm trying," Jace said. "You won't . . . tell her you saw me, will you?"

"No. I figure it's up to you to tell her when the time is right."

Jace swallowed and nodded.

Luke looked down on him and his features softened. "Wait here for a minute."

"What for?"

Luke grinned. "You'll see."

Jace watched as Luke crossed the street, pausing in the middle while a few cars passed by. He exited into the door of the shop and Jace waited. For what, he didn't know, but Luke had asked, so he complied. Several minutes later, the door to the art store opened and a girl stepped out. Jace sucked in a breath as she moved into the sunlight, her red hair gleaming, bright and lively. She had it parted down the middle and gathered into braids at the sides—just how he liked it. One of her hands lifted and flicked one of the braids over her shoulder as she hiked her bag up her arm. A sketch pad and package of pencils fell from the opening in her purse and she bent to collect them.

Jace stood, wanting so badly to go to her, to just throw all caution away and run across that street, taking her into his arms once more. He could almost feel the warmth of her on his skin, smell her scent, taste her lips. She was so close, and he could feel his resolve crumbling. She gathered her supplies and placed them back into her bag before standing.

Jace slipped off his glasses, needing to remove any hindrance to seeing her fully. God, she was every bit as beautiful as he remembered. Skin as smooth as porcelain, seemed to glow flawlessly in the sunlight. Even the tiny freckles dotted across her nose looked perfect to him. He wanted to run his fingers over her cheeks and cup her face between his hands. He would give anything to touch her again. Anything.

Suddenly, her gaze moved to him and he hastily put his glasses back on. But not before he noticed a flicker of recognition cross her face. Just then, a truck drove past and he used the opportunity to duck behind a nearby vehicle. He felt like an idiot, but he couldn't risk her knowing he was there. Not yet. He'd meant it when he'd said it wasn't safe.

Once the truck was gone, he saw her looking to the spot where he had stood, confusion etched across her face. Finally, she shook her head as if she'd convinced herself it was just her imagination, and continued up the street. Jace watched her back until she disappeared from his sight. He drew in a shaky breath and stood, making his way back to the sidewalk.

Across the street, he caught Luke's form in the window of the book store. His big hand came up and he waved. Jace felt his mouth pull into a grin and he returned the gesture. Luke moved away from the window, and Jace started up the street, in the opposite direction Clary had gone.

Although he hadn't spoken to her, or really been anywhere near her, already he felt lighter, more hopeful. She was within his grasp now. All he had to do was keep the faith and follow the plan. If he had anything to say about it, she'd be in his arms again in no time.

.o.O.o.

The truck idled next to the door of an abandoned warehouse. Jace peered out the window, his eyes raking over the grime covered alley and taking note of the overflowing dumpster and the man sleeping under a pile of newspapers at its base. The streetlights posted at the opening of the alley cast an orange glow at the entrance, but didn't reach where they sat parked. Only the dim illumination of the nearly shop light over the warehouse door provided any light at all.

Jace sank back into the vinyl covered seat and sighed. "What are we doing in this crap hole? I thought you said Imogen was all prim and proper. Why would she want to meet here?"

Michael didn't turn to look at Jace but just kept his eyes on the street. He was always alert, always focused, always watching. "Less chance of being noticed here." Finally, he looked at Jace. "Stephen Sr. and Imogen are well known in the city, as you can imagine. If anyone saw her talking to us, it would get back to her husband. He has spies everywhere and they would have no problem squealing on his wife. We can't risk her safety."

"He sounds like an asshat."

Michael chuckled. "I don't know where you kids come up with these words, but yes, he is definitely an . . . asshat."

Jace gazed back out the window and grinned to himself.

After several more minutes, the light above the warehouse entrance clicked off. Michael shut the engine down and moved to open his door. "That's our cue," he said.

Jace swallowed hard and wrapped his hand around the door handle, opening it slowly. His chest tightened and he stepped out into the dusty ally, closing the door as quietly as he could manage behind him. Michael had warned against drawing any more attention to themselves as necessary. The prospect of meeting this woman, his grandmother, for the first time was daunting. Especially since it couldn't be in a way that most kids would meet their grandparents, but instead in an old abandoned warehouse in a rundown district of the city.

Michael walked slowly down the dusty lane, his hand fixed over his hip where Jace knew he hid his weapon. It seemed so strange to Jace—even though he'd known the truth behind his father's occupation for months—to witness him this way.

They passed the entrance which the light had shone over and moved further down until they came to a corner. Turning to their left, there was another doorway, this one smaller and less pronounced. Michael gestured for Jace to stand behind him and he reached for his gun. Jace did as he was told and waited for Michael to move ahead.

Pressing against a wire near his neck, Michael spoke into his shirt collar where Jace knew he kept a microphone. "All clear?" he asked in a quiet voice.

Jace didn't hear the response, but assumed all was well when Michael twisted the knob and stepped through the door.

The space was large and mostly empty except for a few stacks of boxes and tarps here and there. Only emergency exit lights from over the doorways provided any illumination into the cavernous space. Dust floated up into the beams, casting a dreary gray cover over everything. Jace's gaze moved over the building, wondering what it may have been used for before.

He stepped over to one of the stacks near him and was just about to lift the tarp covering it, when he heard the clearing of a throat from behind. Jerking around, his eyes fell on a tall, slender woman. She moved with a grace and confidence, Jace found startling. It wasn't that he wasn't used to poised women, he just hadn't expected it from Imogen Herondale. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it had to do with the fact that her husband was a control-freak asshat—but what did he know?

She stepped into the dim, light circle near them, her features highlighted for Jace to finally see. She looked different than he'd expected. Not grandmother-like at all. Whatever that was. Her silver hair had been pulled back slick against her head, and coiled up into a bun. High cheekbones accented a narrow, almost fox-like face with sharp features and narrow eyes. As much as she didn't look like him, he could recognize himself in the shape of her nose and tone of her skin.

Her eyes widened as they raked over him, her mouth pinching into a thin line.

"Imogen," Michael said.

Her attention switched to him briefly and back to Jace. She couldn't seem to get a grasp on him being there. Jace thought he should say something, but he had no idea what to say. "Hey, I'm Jace. Sorry we don't know each other, but I kinda had no idea you existed and I spent my formative years being handed off like a stray puppy. Nice to meet you." Yeah. No.

"Michael." Her eyes finally landed on his father and stayed there.

Michael gently shoved Jace forward, all the while keeping his hand firmly affixed to his back.

"You wanted to meet him, Imogen. Here he is. Jace, this is Imogen."

She glanced back at Jace, her eyes boring into his. She stared at him for a long while, her face never showing a bit of emotion. Jace bit his lip, not sure what to do now. Instead, he didn't have to do anything. Imogen reached her hand out. "Hello, Jace."

He looked down at her outstretched palm and took it carefully with his. "Hi."

A small smile pulled at her thin lips. "You are most definitely Stephen's son." She studied him for a moment after Jace dropped her hand. "You have your mother's eyes but the rest . . . well, you look so much like your father did at your age."

Jace felt his face heat slightly under the scrutiny and was glad it was pretty dark in there. He'd never been one to blush but for some reason, this woman made him feel small, like a little kid.

"Did you bring it?" Michael asked.

Imogen's face whipped toward him. "Of course, I did, Michael. Did you think I'd be dishonorable?"

"Of course not. I just didn't know if you'd be able to recover it, that's all."

"You underestimate me, Michael." She scowled. "You always did."

He sighed and raised a hand to his hair. "I apologize and assure you that isn't the case." He paused. "What about the other?"

She smoothed her hands over the hips of her long skirt. "It's been taken care of."

"And you're sure there's no possibility—"

Imogen sighed. "Yes, Michael. I made sure there would be no connection between Jace and Stephen. No one will ever know who he really is. I destroyed all the evidence I had and made sure Stephen Sr. would have no way to prove it even if he suspected." Her gaze flickered to Jace's once more and something behind her eyes softened. "And once this is all taken care of, once the organization is shut down for good, I have set it up for Stephen's assets to be transferred to Jace."

Jace's brows rose. "You don't have to do that. I don't need—"

"You may not need," Imogen interrupted, "but it's all I have to give you."

Jace snapped his mouth shut and clenched his fists at his side, wanting to protest more, but the look on her face warned him against it. He thought maybe he could see a little bit of his own obstinacy in her. It felt kind of nice, actually, seeing something of himself in someone else and knowing that they were connected in a way he'd never been to anyone else for as long as he could remember. Nice but strange. This woman shared his blood. Something he didn't know really meant anything to him until that moment.

"Because of the life I've allowed," she continued, "because of my own cowardice, I never was afforded the chance to know you. And even now, I fear that's an impossibility. I can disperse Stephen's money through various channels to strip it of anything ever having to do with the Herondales and make it untraceable, but I'm afraid I can't do the same with myself." She smiled sadly. "If only."

Jace breathed in, not knowing quite what was appropriate to say. "Thank you," he offered lamely.

Imogen shook her head and chuckled darkly. "Don't thank me. It's because of me and my failure that you are where you are. That you grew up never knowing your father or even really your mother. I could have stopped it long before your parents ever met. I could have handed the same information over that I am today—minus twenty years of deeds that have since been added. It's on my head, the blood on my hands. You have nothing to be thankful to me for. In fact, I should think you would hate me. At least, you should."

"If it were a year ago, I would have," Jace said truthfully. "I've changed a lot since then."

Imogen smiled sadly. "I wish I knew."

"No, you don't. I was just another angst-ridden teenager with a chip the size of this city on my shoulder. Or to put in simpler terms, and to quote my sister—I was a total ass."

She glanced up at him, the sadness of her smile now reached her eyes. "You remind me of him, you know. Your father. Not just your looks either." She nodded to herself. "He was a good boy. Only a few years older than you when he died." Her fists clenched at her sides. "My husband felt our son was weak, a runt, if you will. He never understood Stephen's desire to serve others." A forced laugh erupted from her throat. "He wanted to be a police officer. A police officer! Of all things."

Jace swallowed and tried to absorb the knowledge, to mentally create a picture of this man, a man who this woman loved more than anything. He couldn't do it though. He had no idea how.

"And when he met your mother, it was like, something inside of him woke up and he was more determined than ever." Her eyes met Jace's. "As you can imagine, my husband would hear nothing of a son of his enforcing the law. Our past had always been breaking it. We couldn't have a cop in the family." She sighed. "But Stephen was stubborn and pursued it anyway."

A silence stretched over the warehouse. It was so quiet it was almost eerie.

Imogen sucked in a breath. "The day I finally found the courage to steal the files was the day Stephen asked your mother to marry him. I'd had an inkling that Celine could be pregnant, but never knew for certain because Stephen acted as if he were oblivious. Whether or not he knew, I can't be sure."

"He didn't," Michael added quietly. "She planned on telling him soon, but . . ." he trailed off leaving the sentence unfinished. Jace didn't need to hear the words to know how they would end.

"He didn't know about me," Jace spoke his thoughts.

"He would have been thrilled," Imogen said, her voice a near whisper. "He'd always said he couldn't wait to have children." Her eyes met Jace's. "He would have been thrilled," she repeated.

Jace glanced at the ground, not able to relate to the pain in her stare. He wished he had at least some sort of memory to cling to, like he did of his mother, but Stephen was a stranger to him. And no matter what she said, or did, or showed him, he always would be. It made him feel strange that he couldn't feel an ounce of grief over the man that would have been his father. The man that would have been the one to teach him to play sports or drag him along on fishing trips. But he hadn't been the one to do that. The one who had, stood at his side, his posture poised in protection. Michael Wayland was his father. No amount of DNA would change that. No matter how much either of them wished Jace had been able to know his biological father.

"Well," Imogen cleared her throat and reached into the bag slung over her shoulder. "I suppose we should get on with what we came here for."

At that moment, Michael reached up and touched his ear, his brow furrowing as he listened to whatever was being relayed to him through the earpiece. Imogen's hand withdrew from her bag, her fist wrapped around a small memory stick. A faint scuff in the dirt and the sound of the release of air echoed through the warehouse. Imogen jolted slightly, her eyes widening as she pitched forward. Jace caught her around the back, a warm wetness spreading over his hands. Michael shouted something and shoved Jace out of the way, his hold still firmly around Imogen, just as a loud shot split through the air.

.o.O.o.

Clary scrunched her nose and peered down at the choices before her. "Don't you have anything else?"

"What?" Isabelle glanced up, the brush poised over Clary's foot. "What's wrong with pink passion?"

"Well, first of all, I hate pink. And second . . . well, passion isn't something I've felt in a while and don't think I can get away with wearing it on my toes."

Isabelle sighed with disgust. "Jesus, Clary, do you have to be so hard to make girly? I mean, come on."

"I didn't say you couldn't paint them, I just said no pink." She shrugged.

"Fine." Isabelle heaved herself off the bed and crossed the room to her makeup table. She pawed through the various paint shades and paused at one, her lips curving up into a smile. "Here! You can't complain about this." She held the little bottle up. "Gracious Gold."

Gold. Great. Clary forced a grin. "Perfect."

Isabelle sauntered back over and proceeded to make Clary's toes sparkle in the same color that haunted her dreams every night.

Just as Isabelle finished the last nail, a loud bang sounded from downstairs. "What the hell?" Isabelle said as she jumped off the bed.

Clary waddled behind her, trying her hardest not to mess up the paint job or get any on the carpet. When they reached the stairs, they were met with muffled voices. Voices that sounded anxious or possibly even frightened. More banging and a few shouted directions were heard before Robert and Maryse came flying to the door, their hands laden with black bags and jackets.

"Mom?" Isabelle asked. "What's going on?"

Robert wrenched open the door and rushed down the steps without a word, the recognizable beep of the car door automatically unlocking sounded from outside.

Maryse whipped toward the girls, her eyes wide and face drawn. "We, uh, we have to go out. We'll . . . we'll be back soon. Watch your brother." She turned toward the door and rushed out after Robert, slamming the door shut behind her.

Clary and Isabelle stood frozen at the bottom of the stairs, neither moving for several minutes. Finally, Clary spoke. "What was that all about?"

Isabelle shook her head. "I have no idea." She met Clary's eyes and in them, Clary saw the fear she'd just witnessed in Maryse's staring back at her.

.o.O.o.

Harsh white lights shone overhead, bearing down on Jace and making the deep red stains on his hands appear black. He stared at them, studying the designs the drops had made as they'd trailed down his arms and pooled onto the sleeve of his shirt. His entire front was splattered with more red and he closed his eyes against it, not wanting to see it any more. When would they let him change? Or at least wash his hands. How long did they expect him to sit there? All night? The rest of his life? At this point, that's what it felt like.

Jace clenched and unclenched his fists trying to block the look of shock that passed over Imogen's face as she'd fallen into his arms. To make himself forget the smell of smoke tinged copper that wafted through the air afterward. To forget the sounds of shouts, pounding footsteps, and gunfire. He lowered his head to the hard table in front of him, reveling in the coolness soaking into his skin.

After awhile, he heard the door open and footsteps approach him, but he didn't raise his face to look. He was tired of answering questions, tired of them asking him for what they wanted but he refused to give them. There was only one person he trusted to give it to, and he would not settle for anyone else.

"Jace?" A familiar voice called out. Soft hands brushed through his hair and he let out a slow sigh. Lifting his head, he met piercing blue eyes.

"Mom?" He called her the name without thinking, even though he knew she wasn't.

Maryse's eyes softened and she knelt down next to him, her hand still on him but now resting on his shoulder. "We're here. Are you all right?"

He shook his head and closed his eyes. "Where's my father?"

"Michael's being debriefed."

"Imogen?" he asked and looked up at her.

She frowned and shook her head.

Jace bowed his and studied his stained hands once more.

Maryse moved to him and gathered him into her arms, one wrapping around his shoulders, the other reaching up and resting against the back of his head. She didn't seem put off by the blood. "You're okay now. I promise."

He let out a shuddering breath and pulled back, his eyes on his hands until he reached one out and opened his fist, palm up. The small, flat memory stick sat on top. He raised his eyes and found her looking down at his hand, surprised. Finally, she met his gaze.

"You're the only ones I trust now."

Maryse stared at him for a moment before nodding and looking back down. Reaching out, she wrapped her fingers around the small stick and plucked it out of his outstretched hand.

Jace sighed when the tiny object was finally out of his possession. He felt his throat constrict and his eyes burn. In a voice he didn't even recognize, he said, "I want to go home. Please, can I just go home now?"

Maryse's forehead creased and she blinked rapidly against the moisture building in her eyes. She nodded. "Of course," she reached out to him. "Come on. We'll take you home."


	32. Feels Like Home

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

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_**Chapter 32: Feels Like Home**_

_Chapter Songs:_

_Love Song Requiem – Trading Yesterday (Scene 1)_

_In My Veins – Adam Belle (Scene 2)_

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The hard stone felt cool and smooth beneath Clary's fingers. Sunlight filtered through a break in the clouds, the streams highlighting patches of grass and headstones. Jonathan always used to joke that when it did that, it was actually a vision of God or angels descending from Heaven. Clary told him he was full of crap, but now she thought, maybe he was right. Before now, she'd never really taken the time to study the beam, to absorb the beauty the soft yellow light contained. She'd been a kid—even though, technically, at sixteen, she still was a kid—she felt so much older. The experiences she'd had, death, dying, love, loss, were more than most "kids" her age ever had to endure.

While others spent their Wednesday evenings attending sports practices or hanging out with friends, Clary spent hers at the cemetery, speaking to her dead brother, and then working at her mom's shop.

In the months since Jace left, Clary had retreated. She hadn't meant to, and she tried not to, but the reminders, the pain of reliving it, became too much for her. She knew she hadn't really healed from Jonathan's death—not fully—and maybe she never would, but adding Jace leaving on top had just . . . broken her. She put on a brave face, smiled, laughed, pretended to be coping, but all the while she felt it festering inside.

The hurt.

The betrayal.

The anger.

Some part of her realized it was wrong to feel that way. That Jace had to choose his path, his life, and that was his decision to make. She just wished he'd chosen her. It was selfish, she knew, but she couldn't help how she felt.

As the days and months passed, Clary convinced herself more and more that he must have lied. He must have been confused. Because if he had loved her as he claimed he did, he wouldn't have been able to stay away. He would have called, written, something. But he didn't.

Each day met silence from him.

Not even a whisper.

She tried to call, to find some way to be with him again, but she met only dead ends. The Lightwoods had no contact information. His phone number had been disconnected. He'd just—disappeared. He was gone.

She tried to hold on for as long as she could by remembering what it was like to look into his eyes, to feel his arms around her, to taste his kiss, to breathe him in. But as time continued to tick, those sensations dulled more and more until finally, she couldn't remember it clearly at all. She had an inkling, a slight memory, but the sound of his voice and the beauty of his smile were so muddied she couldn't hear or see them properly. It was almost as if their time together had been a fairytale. One she'd been read when she was a little girl but had now been tainted and destroyed by anger and pain.

Clary didn't know how long she sat at Jonathan's grave, her eyes glued to his headstone and her fingers tracing the grooves his name made in the rock. She had come a long way just being able to be there, to sit with him, to talk to him, but it had become almost an obsession now. It was as if she was coping with her other pain by forcing herself to relive the old.

Somehow, that pain was easier.

Maybe it was because she knew how to deal with it, or maybe because Jonathan had never betrayed her. He hadn't turned his back. He hadn't walked away willingly, leaving her shattered and destroyed in the process. He had been taken. Not given a choice. She couldn't fault him or be angry with him for things outside of his control.

But Jace had a choice.

He was alive. He had a choice and he chose a life without her. That pain—there was no description.

No cure.

It just was.

Clary sighed and stood, stretching her stiff muscles as she did. Glancing down once more, her eyes taking in the epitaph and flowers leaning against the gray stone, she turned away and made her way through the cemetery's winding path. She didn't let her gaze stray to the swings at the park next door. Dealing with memories today, the anniversary of Jonathan's death, wasn't something she could handle. One heartbreak at a time was enough.

Jocelyn had decided to keep the shop open, stating it made it easier for her to manage when she stayed busy. Clary guessed she could understand that, and in all its craziness, it made sense. Which was why she said she'd still work. It was something to do and would occupy her mind against the memories assaulting her from every angle.

The walk to the store was peaceful and quiet. Even though Spring had technically sprung, a chill still bit the air and people weren't quite ready to venture out of their warm homes yet. It was okay with Clary though. She really wasn't in the mood to interact with people much today anyhow.

Clary reached the shop just as her mother came out from the back, carrying a medium sized box and plopping it down on the counter.

"What's that?" Clary asked, hanging her jacket on the hook behind the register.

Jocelyn glanced up, the bags under her eyes a dead giveaway of her continued grief. "Oh, just some old crap I found in the back." She started pulling out packages of paint brushes, smocks, and how-to books. "I thought maybe these would be good for the beginner's class I'm starting next week."

Clary peered over the side, poking her fingers through the contents. "Yeah, that sounds good."

Jocelyn stopped and tuned to Clary, her hands grasping Clary's face. "How are you today? Don't lie."

Clary sighed and twisted away, picking through the box once more. "I'm—sad." Though, she didn't specify exactly what she was sad about. In a quiet voice she added, "I'm angry." And even though her anger wasn't directed toward Jonathan's death, her mother didn't ask specifically how she felt in regards to her brother. She'd just asked how she was, and angry was part of it.

Jocelyn reached out and smoothed Clary's hair back, before offering a small smile. "Me too, baby. Me too."

Clary cleared her throat, uncomfortable for some reason. "So, what do you need me to do?"

"Well, there are a couple more boxes like this in the back. I was thinking we could sort through them and place the stuff that might be useful over there." She pointed to the cabinet which she kept for class supplies.

"Okay." Clary started to move toward the supply room. "I'll get another one then."

Jocelyn nodded, her hands shoved into the box, busying herself in a way Clary wished would work for her. She sighed and moved to the back room, spying the stack near the door. Clary heard the tinkle of the bell above the front door just as she'd picked up the top one. She turned to make her way back to the store when she heard Jocelyn enter the room.

"I need to run next door to ask Luke something. Can you watch the store?" Her voice sounded odd and forced.

"Yeah, sure," Clary said from behind the box.

"Thanks, honey," Jocelyn said, as she hurried through the adjoining doors.

Clary shook her head. She wished she understood Jocelyn's method of grieving. One moment she seemed fine and the next she seemed a little crazy. As soon as Clary stepped through the door, she felt another person in the room.

"Just a sec and I can help you. Just let me put this—" Her eyes lifted over the rim and were met by a very familiar gold. She sucked in a breath and her arms went limp. The box she held tumbled to the ground, its contents spilling over the floor in front of her. Her body went stiff and she was paralyzed to her spot.

Jace stood just inside the store, still in front of the door, his hands shoved into his pockets and his eyes glued on her. His chest rose and fell quickly.

Clary swallowed, her mouth instantly dry and her throat blocked. She wondered if she'd somehow fallen asleep without knowing, if this was all a dream and soon she'd wake up, still alone in her bed with no Jace standing before her. Panic spread through her chest at the thought. She'd wished for so long to see him, even if it was only in a dream. But her mind kept him from her. No dreams. No visions. No Jace. Now, he was standing just feet before her and she couldn't move. She thought maybe she should say something. Hello or . . . something. But the words wouldn't form, her body frozen and her eyes just staring at him.

Finally, he spoke. "I probably should have used this, huh, Pippi?" He lifted his hand, and from his fingers dangled a tiny silver bell tied on a red string.

Clary's throat tightened when she saw it and heard what he'd called her. Pippi. He called her Pippi. Not Clary. Pippi. The name he'd used so often it had become common between them. His endearment for her. For only her.

She drew in a shaky breath, her fists clenching at her sides. So many thoughts and emotions swirled through her. She wanted to go to him, throw her arms around him, feel his body against hers, smell his scent, taste his lips. But she also wanted to run away, to clear her mind and try to come to grips with everything she felt in that moment. She wanted to demand to know why he left and why he hadn't called. But she couldn't get enough grasp on her emotions to decide which she would do. So, she just stood there, taking him in, her eyes drinking up the vision that was him.

He looked different but achingly the same. He wore dark jeans and a white t-shirt, a pair of black boots and a black jacket. His hair was shorter, no unruly curls hung at his neck or stuck out behind his ears, but he was still beautiful. So beautiful her heart actually hurt to look at him. She wondered how it would feel to kiss him, to touch him. Would that electricity still be there? Would being with him again make the pain go away? Could she forgive and forget? Or would it hurt worse? At the moment, it was the latter.

So many thoughts, feelings, and questions bombarded her mind, but none passed her lips. No matter how many times she tried, she couldn't get her mouth to form the words. So when she finally did speak, the thought that came out was the last thing she expected to say.

"You cut your hair." Her face heated at the stupidity of the statement. His hair? Really? Of all the things she could have said, all the questions she could have asked, the status of his hair was what her mind decided to focus on.

He raised his brows and lifted his hand, running it through the short locks self-consciously. "Uh, yeah. It was . . . annoying me . . . a little. Always hanging in my face . . ." He trailed off and looked down at the floor, a deep breath raising his shoulders. When he glanced back up, Clary saw the dark circles under his eyes, the haggard and defeated expression on his face, and her heart broke a little more. He took a slow step toward her. "Pippi, I—"

"Don't—" Clary raised her hand and moved back.

Jace froze, his breath catching, but his eyes staying locked on hers.

"Don't call me that," she whispered, the words coming out shaky as she spoke. "Just—It hurts when you call me that."

His face fell and he swallowed. "Okay."

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to gain at least a little bit of composure, but her body didn't seem to want to cooperate. "Are—are you—are you back, or just . . ." Her voice died and her hand floundered to her side. She couldn't finish the sentence because a part of her didn't want to know the answer, while the other desperately did. Hope bubbled in her chest and she tried to beat it back down.

"I'm back."

She nodded, her heart thumping hard against her ribs.

"P—Clary. Can we just—can we . . . talk? I'd like to—"

"You didn't call," Clary interrupted quietly. "I waited for you to call, but you never did." She kept her eyes on the floor, unable to meet his for fear she would break and give in too easily.

"I know. It—I can explain."

Her head snapped up. "Explain? Explain what exactly? How you could walk away? How you could shut off all contact? Is that what you want to explain, Jace? You want to give me your excuses?" She swallowed, trying to force the hurt and anger back down, knowing this wasn't the time or place, but it boiled inside her, threatening to overflow and there was nothing she could do about it. "You said you loved me. You . . . you said you loved me."

His face contorted and he stepped forward, his hand stretched out toward her. "I did. I do. Please, if you'll just—" His words were cut off by the tinkling of the bell as a few customers entered the store. He took in a breath and tried to remove the pain from his face, but he wasn't as good at it as he was before, because she still saw it there.

After a moment, he carefully crossed the room and Clary stiffened as he drew near, her body readying itself to flee. The other customers laughed and poked around the supply shelves, talking amongst themselves and completely oblivious to the tension between the two of them. He stopped at the counter, less than a foot away from her, and slid a piece of paper across the formica.

"This is where I'll be. When—if you want to talk, I'll be there." He turned, but then paused and looked back at her, his expression still pleading. Leaning across the counter, he whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Clary. I didn't mean—" He closed his eyes and took in a breath. "Please, just give me a chance, and if you still don't want to see me, I'll respect that. I promise you, I will." He opened his eyes once more and met hers. "I did love you. God, Clary—I still do . . . I never stopped. Whether or not you believe that doesn't make it untrue. I just—I need you to know that. No matter what."

Clary's hands shook at her sides and she wanted to reach out to him, pull him to her, tell him she forgave him, but she couldn't. Something held her back, something she didn't understand. Maybe it was the day, the added grief over the anniversary of Jonathan's death, or maybe it was just the anger she'd let build over the months he'd been away. Regardless, it was there and she couldn't deny it. But she also couldn't deny the urge to have him once again. To take what she wanted and hold it to herself, never letting it go again. But she needed to sort through what she really felt, to decide if she could actually forgive him.

Jace searched her eyes for a moment before lowering his gaze to the counter. Clary kept her fists clenched, her body so tense her muscles started to ache. Her hands itched to touch him, but she knew if she did it would be the end for her. She'd never be able to say what she needed to say, to make him hear it. He needed to know how much he'd hurt her. How hard it had been to not know where he was, what he was doing, and even if he was all right.

She reached over and grabbed the paper, sliding it the rest of the way across the counter to her. Glancing down, she noticed the address was to an apartment in town. She looked up at him. "You're not staying with the Lightwoods?"

He met her gaze and shook his head. "I have my own place. Just up the street."

She furrowed her brow and lowered her gaze to the address once more.

"I'll be eighteen next month. I can't really stay in foster homes anymore."

Her head snapped up. "Your birthday's next month?"

His lips pulled into a barely there smile and he nodded.

"But . . . I don't understand why you can't just stay with the Lightwoods anyway."

He sighed and pushed away from the counter. "I know. But if you come . . . I'll explain."

At that moment, the two girls who were perusing the shelves came up to the register, one of them eyeing Jace in a way that made Clary want to put a hot poker through her eye. She frowned at the girl and then looked back at Jace, finding his gaze locked firmly on her. He didn't even see those other girls, and the realization of that made Clary's anger lessen just a little.

"I'll think about it," she said, folding the strip of paper and placing it in her pocket.

He shoved his hands back into his pockets. "Fair enough." He backed up a few more paces and turned toward the door.

Clary felt the overwhelming weight that had settled on her chest the moment he'd left press down on her again. "Jace."

He stopped and looked back at her, his eyes hopeful.

She sucked in a breath, wanting to say so many things all at once. "I just . . . need some time to . . . to figure some stuff out."

He bit his lip. "I'm not going anywhere." And with that, he opened the door and strode out into the fading sunlight.

Clary slumped against the counter, her heart racing and hands shaking. After a moment, she became aware of the two girls staring at her, but she couldn't seem to care. She turned away from them and the mess at her feet, and moved into the back room. Her mother stood near the door, her hands twisting front of her, a knowing expression on her face.

"Are you all right?" she asked as Clary moved past her and leaned against the wall, her legs feeling as though they might give out from underneath her.

She shook her head.

Jocelyn started toward her but Clary held up her hand. "There are a couple of customers out there."

Her mother stopped, gave her a pained look, but turned and left the room anyway. Clary let out a slow, ragged breath and allowed herself to sink to the floor, her back trailing along the wall as she went. She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her forehead against them. She thought maybe she wanted to cry, but the tears didn't come. She just sat there, frozen and unable to process what had just happened.

He'd come back.

For months, she'd been wishing and hoping to see him again. And then he came and she'd basically shut down on him. She couldn't make sense of the jumbled mess of her emotions. What the hell was wrong with her?

Clary thrust her hands up into her hair and fisted it hard. Pain shot through her scalp, but she didn't care. It grounded her and helped her focus.

A few minutes later, Jocelyn came to the back room and slid down the wall next to Clary. She reached out and laid her hand on the back of Clary's head.

Clary leaned over and rested against her mother's shoulder. "I don't know what to do," she whispered.

Jocelyn sighed. "What did he say?"

Clary closed her eyes, his face appearing behind her lids, his eyes pained and pleading. "He said he wanted to explain." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "He said he loved me. Still."

Jocelyn pulled Clary closer and pressed her lips to her head. "Of course he does. What's not to love?"

"He left, Mom. He walked away. And he didn't call. He didn't write. How am I supposed to just . . . forget about that? How . . .?"

"Maybe . . ." Jocelyn continued running her hand over Clary's head. "Maybe you don't forget." She sighed when Clary let out a low groan. "What do you want? I mean, if you really think about it, what do you want?"

Clary spoke immediately. "I don't need to think about it. I know what I want. I've always known. I want him. I've always wanted him, but . . ."

"But?"

Clary closed her eyes. "But I'm scared. I'm scared he'll leave again. I just don't want to feel like this anymore, to hurt anymore." She lowered her head to her knees once again. "What if he leaves again? What if he doesn't come back next time?"

"What if he doesn't leave at all?"

Clary glanced up at her mother, her brows furrowed.

Jocelyn raised her hands and cupped Clary's cheeks. "I know I didn't see much of you two together, but what I did see . . . especially the day he left . . . that isn't something you can fake. That boy loves you. He didn't want to leave any more than you wanted him to go. But for whatever reason he had to. Maybe it was for the same reasons he didn't call."

"Maybe it wasn't," Clary mumbled.

"Maybe it wasn't," Jocelyn agreed with a nod of her head before turning to meet Clary's eyes once more. "But don't you owe it to yourself to find out?"

Clary let out a little whimper, knowing her mother was right and hating it. She felt like being stubborn. "Since when are you on his side?"

Jocelyn chuckled. "I'm not. I'm on your side. Always on your side. Which is why I know you really want me to tell you to go to him. To at least listen to what he has to say." She paused. "Just think about it for a moment. Why are you _really_ upset?"

Clary sighed and lowered her face into her hands. "Honestly? I don't know. I don't know exactly what I'm feeling." She shook her head. "When I saw him standing there I just . . . I don't even know what it was. It was like I was so happy but so angry at the same time. I wanted to hug him and I wanted to run away. I don't know why. But I—I couldn't move or really breathe. I just stood there, staring at him like an idiot."

"It's like you said. You're scared. That's totally understandable given what you've been through. But, baby," she turned to Clary, her eyes sad but serious, "he's not Jonathan. He came back."

Clary felt her eyes sting and she shook her head again. "It's not the s—"

"I know it's not the same. And I know _you_ know it's not the same." She reached out and laid her hand over Clary's chest. "But does your heart know that?"

Clary's mouth dropped open as she processed what her mother was saying. For so long after Jonathan's death, Clary blamed herself. She knew it wasn't her fault, that it had been an accident. The roads were wet and slippery, and that deer ran out of nowhere. But she'd rationalized her blame because her heart and mind couldn't accept the fact that he was gone for, really, no reason at all. A fluke accident on a stormy night in the middle of nowhere. Someone had to take the blame, and so she'd taken it on herself. But the worst thing of all, the thing she had never been able to make herself admit, was that she resented Jonathan for going. For letting himself drift away, leaving her mom and her alone.

Without his humor and smile.

Without his life.

He'd been such a force, such a bright spot in their lives, that living without him made the world seem just a little more dark.

When Jace left, it had been the same thing. She wanted a reason why, and when there was none, just like with Jonathan, she needed some place to put the blame. And because he was still out there, it went on him. He'd tried, in his own way, to explain without explaining that he really had no choice in the matter. That for some reason, it would not be safe if he stayed. His letter, no matter how vague, said exactly that.

He'd been so broken the day he left. Openly and uncharacteristically. He'd let himself go and bared himself completely in front of everyone. Something Jace never did. Ever. He'd cried for the first time in twelve years. And he'd done it for her. It had been so clear at the time. How had she let herself become so blinded, so jaded?

How could she think he didn't care?

How could she let herself believe that?

Clary jumped up, her heart thumping in her chest. "I'm so stupid." She thrust her hands into her hair. "I'm so, so stupid."

Jocelyn stood. "You're not stupid. You're an emotional sixteen-year-old girl who's experienced more than her share of grief. Of abandonment." She brushed Clary's hair over her shoulder. "And he's a seventeen-year-old boy who's also experienced more than he should have." She paused, her voice softening to almost a whisper. "And he's desperately in love with you. Something I never fathomed was possible at your young ages, but . . . well, there it is."

For the first time in months, tears finally fell over Clary's cheeks.

Jocelyn shook her head and leaned into Clary, resting her cheek on top of Clary's head. "I let my fears stop me from so much in the last year and I pushed them onto you. I won't let you make my mistakes. Life is too short. If we've taken anything from Jonathan's death, it's that." She pulled back, grasping Clary's shoulders and looking her straight in the eye. "If you want that boy, you'd better go tell him."

Clary smiled through the tears and hugged her mother again. "Thank you for . . . everything."

"No," Jocelyn said. "Thank you for making me realize that it's possible to go on living after everything that's happened. That it's okay to be happy. To love. And Clary, it's okay for you too."

Clary stepped back and swiped her hand across her face, clearing the tears and steeling herself for what she had to do. Giving Jocelyn one last smile, she walked back into the store, grabbed her jacket, stepped over the mess she'd made earlier, and walked out the door. Her steps quickened and soon she was running. She ran as fast as she could. Away from the past, away from the pain, and toward the future. Toward forgiveness, and toward the one person who'd kept his promise. He said he'd come back and he had. And now, it was her turn to keep hers. She'd told him she'd wait, and it was time to prove to him she had.

.o.O.o.

Jace never realized just how much he hated the quiet until that moment. He had all the freedom in the world in his new place, but the silence drove him nearly insane. The television held nothing of interest, and even though boxes lined the walls and dotted the carpet, he didn't feel like unpacking anything. He had no idea where anything was and he didn't really care. The only thing he cared about didn't seem to want him anymore. Or couldn't.

He didn't know what he'd expected. It wasn't like he didn't know he'd hurt her, that not talking to her or writing her once in nearly six months would give her the impression that he'd stopped caring. Nothing could be further from the truth, but he could see how she might think it. Still, he thought she'd known him better than that. Couldn't she tell? Was he really so hard to read that she didn't know? Or had he just hurt her so badly that she couldn't see past it to the truth?

Jace sank onto the couch and lowered his face into his hands. What had he done? He'd left and he hadn't explained. He thought he was doing the right thing, the safest thing, but now . . . now she wouldn't—or couldn't—forgive him. Even if she gave him a chance to explain, she may not be able to.

Maybe he'd been stupid or naïve to think it would be as easy as just coming back. He had to have been. Even though she said she would, had he really expected her to wait?

Jace dropped his hands and absently ran one over the neck of his guitar, which leaned up against the side of the cushion. It was the only thing unpacked besides the clothes he had on his back. He picked it up and set it in his lap, the weight comfortable against his legs. His fingers plucked at the strings, not because he wanted to play but because he didn't know what else to do. He needed something that made him feel grounded, like he wasn't drifting without direction down a river with no paddles. Because that's how his life felt. Twisted and wrong and without purpose. He belonged nowhere anymore. Not with Michael, not with the Lightwoods, and not with Clary. In trying to do the right thing, for everyone but him, he'd lost everything.

His hand gripped the neck and his other strummed out a melody, while all the emotion building inside poured out in lyrics. He didn't want to play, or sing, or even be awake, but he was and somehow, it felt better. The strings cutting into his fingers felt better. The words and emotion and vibrations from his voice felt better. His hand moved faster and his voice grew louder. He didn't care who heard or what they thought. All he cared about was that the hurt lessened with each strum and each word. For so long, music hadn't worked and he didn't know why it did now. Maybe it was being back here, to the place where he'd actually felt like he belonged. Or maybe it was seeing her again. As much as it hurt for her to push him away, just being in her presence had numbed the ache he'd carried with him all those months.

He closed his eyes and played the last few chords, the sound lingering in the air, fading away into the quietness that had encompassed him before. His head hung and he just sat there, the strings still humming slightly under his fingers.

"I've really missed hearing you play," a voice said quietly from the doorway.

Jace's head snapped up and he turned in the voice's direction. He nearly dropped his guitar on the floor when he shot out of his seat. There she stood, small and timid, and so . . . so stunning. Her bright hair, crazy and untamed as always, framed her pale face and her eyes met his as she rubbed her hands together nervously.

He carefully placed the instrument next to the couch, feeling a noticeable tremor in his hands. Turning back to her, he swallowed before speaking. "You came. I thought you needed time."

"So did I," Clary said, and stepped over the threshold before pausing. "May I come in?"

Jace nodded and walked forward, gesturing her in. "Yeah, yeah. Of course." When he neared her, he closed the door, and held out his hand for her coat.

She glanced down at it, a strange expression crossing her face before she slowly removed her jacket and laid it in his palm. The warmth of the fabric soaked into his skin and part of him wanted to hold it to his face and breathe her in. He didn't though.

Jace hung her coat on the hook behind the door and stood awkwardly beside her. "Do you want to sit?" He glanced over at the loveseat in the middle of the room. "I only have the sofa so . . . But, I could stand if you don't want . . ." He knew he sounded like an idiot, but he didn't know what to say. He didn't want to scare her off, but God if he didn't want to pull her to him and just hold her for a while.

She smiled and shook her head. "It's okay, Jace."

The sound of his name on her lips was better than music to his ears. "Sorry. I just don't want to make this harder than it has to be."

Clary looked up at him, her green eyes studying him carefully. "Why didn't you call?"

Raising a hand to his hair, he pushed out a breath, his cheeks puffing out slightly with the movement. "You really don't beat around the bush do you?"

"I need to know."

"I know you do," he said honestly. "And you deserve to know. It's just not a simple answer."

"Then I'll start with something easier. Did you want to call?"

"Yes." Relief flooded his chest, hope flickering to life once more.

Her brows furrowed and she glanced at the floor. "I want to understand, Jace. I really do." She met his gaze again, this time the pain evident in her stare. "Help me understand."

He took another step closer to her, testing to see how near she'd actually let him get. She didn't move back at all. "It's such a long and complicated story, Clary. It could take all night."

"I've got the time," she said, her gaze never wavering from his.

He moved closer once more and still she remained. His heart raced, his breath grew shallow, and his feet continued to move until he stood just inches in front of her. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and searching. He could feel the heat coming off from her and more than anything he wanted to touch her. There were so many things he wanted to say, needed to say, but none of them as important as what came out.

"I've missed you so much," he whispered.

Clary's eyes closed and she let out an uneven breath. "Jace . . ."

"I never wanted to leave, Clary. You know that. It just—killed me to walk away that day. And everyday afterward, all I could see was your face, all I could feel was your touch, all I could smell was you, taste was you. You were all around me all the time, and no matter what I did, no matter where I went, that never changed."

"You left me," she whispered. It wasn't an accusation, but just a statement.

Jace closed his eyes and bowed his head. "But I never said goodbye. I never meant goodbye. I never _felt_ goodbye."

Clary lowered her face and sucked in a breath.

"Please," Jace pleaded. "Please, I'll tell you everything. Everything. I just . . . don't push me away. Please don't make me stay away. I can't . . . I can't stand it anymore." He moved forward just slightly and her hand shot out, her palm pressing against his chest. His breath caught and her eyes popped open. Heat shot through him and he had to fight against the urge to grab her and wrap his arms around her.

He held his breath, expecting her to snatch her hand away or push him back. But she did neither. Instead, she stared at the place where they touched. Jace felt her fingers tremble against him and then curl into his shirt. He didn't move a muscle and watched the rapid rise and fall of her shoulders, both of them frozen, afraid to move more than they already had.

After a few moments, he saw her swallow and tentatively raise her other hand, placing it on his chest next to her fist, her palm brushing lightly over his shirt. He finally sucked in a breath, his pulse hammering in his veins.

Clary stepped forward and rested her forehead just above where her hands lay. "I missed you too."

Jace fought hard against the urge to touch her, not knowing how she would react if he tried, but the relentless waves of heat crashing over him wore at his restraint. "Clary . . ." His voice was strained.

She pressed her face into him. "God, you even smell the same."

"Clary, I don't . . . You need to tell me . . . I just . . . I don't know what to do right now." He stumbled over the words, his body tense with the need to touch and the self-control not to. "I want to touch you and I don't know if I should . . . if I can."

Instead of answering, Clary lowered her hands from his chest, trailing across his abdomen to his arms and then slid down, lacing their fingers together. He closed his eyes against the feel of her skin on his, warm and soft and so comforting. He'd almost forgotten what it was like. She lifted his hands and placed them on her back.

"Hold me," she whispered. "Just . . . hold me."

His breath left him in a gush and he snaked one hand up her spine, cupping the back of her neck while the other stretched across her, holding her tightly against him. He felt her sag into him and his legs weakened beneath him. Both of them sank to their knees, not once releasing their hold on each other.

Jace lowered his face to the top of her head, her scent filling him and bringing back every memory he thought he'd lost. He wished he could kiss her, show her just how much she meant to him and how sorry he was for everything, but he had no idea what she was ready for and was happy just to hold her for now.

Her hands wrapped around his back and gripped his shirt hard, pulling him impossibly closer. She sighed into him, her breath warming the fabric between them. "If I'm dreaming, please don't let me wake up."

He pressed his mouth to her head but did not kiss. "You're not dreaming, Pi—" He caught himself before he said it, "Clary."

Clary sighed and pulled back, her sad eyes meeting his. "I'm sorry I told you not to call me that. You can call me Pippi whenever you want. I miss hearing you say it. I just . . . when you came into the store . . . I was just surprised and hurt and . . . just—there was so much going on inside me that I didn't know how to react."

He removed his hands from her back and placed them carefully on her face, cradling her like she was fragile and precious. "You had every right to be angry. You still do. But everything I did, every single one, wasn't without reason. I know you don't understand, yet, but I was only trying to protect you. To protect everyone." His thumbs brushed over her cheeks, the thrill of finally touching her still flared through him. "If there were any other way, I would have chosen it. I would've done anything not to leave. And I won't do it again. If—If you'll still have me—" he fumbled the words, his throat tightening around them, "I promise you. I'll never leave you again. As much as I can help it, I'll never leave again." He pressed his forehead gently to hers. "Please, Pippi. Please, believe me."

She reached up and ran her fingers over his jaw and up into his hair. He closed his eyes against the sensation.

"I miss your long hair," she said. "It looks good like this, but I liked how it felt between my fingers."

Jace let out a strained breath-laugh. "I'll grow it back."

Her hands moved to his cheeks and raised his face. He opened his eyes and met hers. "I believe you," she whispered. "And there's really nothing to forgive. Deep inside, I've always known that. I know you, Jace. Even though I tried to convince myself I didn't in order to protect myself, I do. I know you'd never leave me if you didn't have to." Her fingers tightened on his jaw. "I know you love me. I can see it. I can feel it. Can you? Can you see it and feel it from me?"

He looked into her eyes and it was there. He felt it pouring from her body into him. "Yes," he breathed.

And just like the very first time he'd kissed her, he felt it. That magnetic pull between them, and he wanted nothing more than to give into it. His eyes dropped to her mouth, slightly open and perfectly pink. She saw his gaze shift and followed it. Her breath caught and she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, the act only making him want her more. Her fingers on his face tightened again and he knew she felt it too. That inexplicable pull to just come together.

Jace closed his eyes and swallowed, before opening them again. "Clary . . ." He drew in a breath. His eyes darted to her mouth once more, his heart flying in his chest as his thumb gently passed over her lips. "Can I . . .?"

Her eyes slowly met his and she stared for just a moment. "You know you never need to ask."

He felt as the weight he'd been carrying on his chest for the last five months lifted and he was free to finally feel what he'd been dying to feel. His fingers swept over her cheeks and he leaned in slowly, the heat between them growing the closer he got to her. Her lips parted and her eyes closed and then he was there. It was everything he remembered and more. Fire and soft and comfort and . . . home.

At first, it was careful, controlled, tentative, their mouths just barely touching as if it was the first time all over again. But then it became more, hard, needy, forceful, like the two of them had been starving and were finally offered food. Clary's mouth moved in sync with his and it seemed like they'd never been apart, like it hadn't been months since he'd last felt her kiss.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and she pushed herself into him, her body trembling against his. The taste of her flooded his senses, his entire being vibrating with it. She was so warm and soft against him. Nothing had ever felt so good or so right in his life.

After a while, the kiss slowed to just simple pecks, but Jace couldn't separate himself from her quite yet, and it seemed she couldn't either. They knelt there, in the middle of all of his unpacked boxes, in an apartment neither of them knew, clinging to each other in a way that was almost desperate. But for the first time ever, Jace truly felt like he was home. It wasn't the possessions or the familiar surroundings of the town. It was the people, friends, family. It was her. The girl who'd forced him to open himself up when he didn't want to. The one who'd given him all of herself without expecting anything in return, but had, instead, gotten everything. She was his life, his everything. His home.


	33. Epilogue

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

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_**Epilogue**_

_Chapter Songs:_

_You and Me – Lifehouse (Scene 1)_

_May I – Trading Yesterday *lyrics for May I belong to Trading Yesterday_

_Perfect – Burn Season (Second half of scene 3 & on)_

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.o.O.o. May – two years later .o.O.o.

A sliver of sun peeked over the horizon, spilling pale pink and yellow light into the sky above. Clary sat upon the same bleachers she had so many times before. The same emerald fields stretched out before her, though now the lines were faded and the goals gone. Springtime exploded around her in patches of color and scents. Birds filled the air with song, and insects flitted about, chasing each other as if they were two children playing a game.

She sighed and clutched her sketchbook closely to her chest, but it wasn't a sad sigh. It was one of contentment, of peace. In all the times she'd come to the fields in the morning, she'd always sat in the bleachers alone. When she'd come with Jonathan, she hadn't _felt_ alone, even though he'd been down there and she'd been here. But this time, she didn't sit by herself. Beside her, Jace sat sprawled out, his legs stretched in front of him, crossed at the ankles and resting on the seat in front of him. He leaned back, propped up on his elbows, staring out at the field with a soccer ball to his side.

Clary glanced over at him, watching as the morning light filtered through the sky and landed on his face, making the golden hue of his hair, skin, and eyes appear to glow. He turned to her and furrowed his brow.

"What?" he asked.

Clary smiled. "You're pretty."

He chuckled and shook his head. "You say that as if I don't already know."

She leaned over, touching her lips to his. "Even big headed asshats like you deserve to be told every once and a while."

Jace reached around and cupped the back of her neck, holding her to him as he kissed her gently for a little longer. When he released her, he sat up and sighed. He lowered his head and clasped his hands together, hanging them between his knees.

Clary frowned and studied his posture. For several days he'd seemed worried, troubled about something, and she couldn't figure out what it was. He'd been fine, proud even, when she'd walked across the stage to accept her diploma a week before and when she told him of her acceptance to The Art Institute of New York City for the coming fall semester. But as the week wore on, his mood dissipated and he became more and more withdrawn. She'd thought, with all the opportunities being presented to both of them at that time, that he'd seem happier. But he didn't. Something was wrong and she needed to know what it was.

She placed her sketchbook off to her side and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Will you please tell me what's wrong?"

He glanced up and gave her a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Nothing's wrong."

She let her gaze linger, moving from one of his eyes to the other. When he saw her studying him, he closed his eyes and let out a breath, lowering his face into his hands.

"I got an offer," Jace said before lifting his head to look back at her, unease etched into the lines of his brow.

Clary frowned. "What do you mean?"

He swallowed. "To play soccer, you know, professionally."

Clary gasped and her eyes widened. Jace had been playing for the university for the last two years and always garnered a lot of recognition for his school's soccer program. There had been MLS scouts from all over the states coming to look at him. He was amazing—as he'd always been. He'd seemed nonchalant about the whole thing—on the outside. But Clary knew that playing professionally was always something he'd wanted.

A swell of pride rose up inside her and she threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. "That's awesome! Why do you look so upset about it? Isn't that what you wanted?"

She felt him nod as his arms tucked around her, then he sighed. "It's in L.A."

Clary stiffened and pulled back, meeting his eyes. "What?"

"The position. It's in Los Angeles."

"Los Angeles, California?" Clary asked, trying to wrap her mind around what he was telling her.

He let out a pained, breathy chuckle. "Yeah, Pippi. The one and only." He scooped up his ball and stood before making his way down the stands.

Clary watched his back for several seconds before following him out to the middle of the field, where he promptly dropped the ball and toed it a few times. Her tongue felt thick and heavy in her mouth, her throat tightening in on itself. As much as she didn't want to entertain the idea of a long distance relationship, she couldn't let her fears overpower his success. He deserved this. He wanted it and she wanted him to have it.

She moved behind him and stretched her arms around his waist, resting her forehead against his back. "This is what you wanted. Your dream."

"Dreams change."

She looked up and moved her hand to his shoulder, tugging against it until he turned to face her, his eyes still downcast. "What's changed? Don't you want it anymore?"

"I do." His eyes met hers. "But I want you more."

Clary swallowed, knowing what he meant, but not wanting to admit it to herself that she wanted him to stay with her instead of going. "You have me. You know that. Nothing's going to change that."

Jace shook his head and reached up, running his fingers along her jaw. "I can't be without you again. I can't be where you're not. That time—" He closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head as if to remove the memories from his mind. "That time almost killed me. I won't do it again."

Clary paused, her mind sorting through all the possibilities available to them. Finally, a thought clicked and the tightening in her throat loosened. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes. "You don't have to."

He furrowed his brow. "What?"

"There are art schools out there. There's even an Art Institute in L.A. I could apply for a transfer. We could go out there together."

"I can't ask you to do that."

Clary reached up and cupped his cheek. "You're not. I want to."

He eyed her carefully. "You'd do that? You'd change all your plans, for me?"

"Being with you is what I want more than anything else. I have no plans without you."

At her words, something behind his gaze changed. An expression wavering between relief, joy, and anxiety overtook his face. And then, finally, resolve. "Are you sure?"

"More sure than I think I've been in a long time."

He smiled and wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her into the air and slapping a big kiss on her lips. "So, we're going to L.A?"

Clary nodded and returned his grin. "We're going to L.A."

.o.O.o.

The next weeks passed in a flurry of activity. Jace was supposed to report for training at the beginning of July, which only gave them a short amount of time to arrange things. During that time span, he'd also had to fly to Los Angeles to finalize his contract. Luckily, because of the inheritance from Stephen and Celine, he didn't have to worry about money. Playing soccer professionally may have been a dream come true, but the pay sucked.

Clary spent the time he was away going through the process of transferring her enrollment to the Los Angeles campus. It was a pain in the butt, but she knew it would be worth it to stay near him in the long run. Clary got her housing set up and Jace got his. Jocelyn did not like the idea of her going out there at all. Her mama-bear instincts were all in an uproar. She thought being alone out there together would be too much of a temptation to them both. Clary rolled her eyes and reminded her mother that they were both adults and could make these decisions on their own. Furthermore, if they'd wanted to do—that—they could do it here just as easily. Jocelyn's face had puckered at that statement. Clary figured if she didn't want to hear about it then she shouldn't insinuate things. Simple as that. Although, in the last few days, Clary had noticed a shift in her mother's demeanor. She hadn't seemed so uptight or worried about the prospect of Jace and Clary going away together. Clary didn't know what happened to change her mother's thinking, but she wasn't going to complain.

Boxes lined the walls of Clary's bedroom. She stepped back and surveyed the space, ignoring the pang in her chest at seeing it so empty. As ready as she was to move on, to grow up and "leave the nest" as it were, she would miss this place. The only place that had ever been home to her.

"It's going to be so strange living in this big house without you." Jocelyn's voice came from the doorway behind Clary.

Clary stepped back and joined her mother. "It's going to be weird not being here."

Jocelyn draped her arm over Clary's shoulder and pulled her into her side, a choked gasp escaping from her lips. Clary jerked back and studied her mother's face. A huge grin pulled at her mouth and tears fell from her eyes.

Clary furrowed her brows. "Mom?"

Jocelyn tightened her grip on Clary's shoulders and jerked her head toward the doorway. "Come on. I have something to show you."

"Okay . . ." Clary half-asked, but followed behind her mother anyway.

Jocelyn led her down the stairs and to the front door. When they reached it, Jocelyn pulled Clary into a tight hug. "I love you so much," she whispered.

Clary hugged her mother back, her heart flying with worry. She had no idea what had gotten into Jocelyn. "I love you too, Mom."

The sound of the door opening brought Clary out of her mother's arms. Jocelyn turned her around and shoved her lightly out onto the porch. Clary's confusion lasted only seconds until her eyes fell on Jace. He stood at the bottom of the steps, his guitar strapped to his back and only the illumination of the full moon casting any light over him.

Clary moved forward and paused at the top step, looking down at him. "What's going on?" she asked. The soft click of the door closing behind her caused Clary to look back for a moment before she turned to Jace once more, her confusion quadrupling as she peered into his eyes. "Jace?"

He smiled softly and reached up, handing her a miniature sunflower just like the one he'd left for her before. "Can't a guy come and give his girl a flower without an interrogation?"

Clary narrowed her eyes and plucked it from his fingers. "No."

Jace chuckled and slid the guitar from the back to the front, strumming a few chords to test out the tuning. "Jesus, you're impatient. Well, I'd better get on with it then." His eyes met hers, and in an instant, all of the playfulness left them and was replaced with . . . something else. She didn't know what it was, but the intensity of his gaze caused her heart to pound.

He glanced down at the guitar for a moment, his fingers curled around the neck while the other hand started to move. When the lyrics started to spill from his mouth, he looked back up at Clary, his stare searing straight through her.

_*And there you stand opened heart—opened doors_

_full of life with the world that's wanting more.  
But I can see when the lights start to fade, _

_the day is done and your smile has gone away._

Clary couldn't help the smile that spread over her lips. She knew with absolute certainty she'd never tire of him singing to her. Her throat constricted and she sucked in a shaking breath. His eyes locked with hers, the emotion in them palpable.

_Let me raise you up._

_Let me be your love._

_May I hold you as you fall to sleep?_

_When the world is closing in and you can't breathe?_

_May I love you?_

_May I be your shield?_

_When no one can be found, may I lay you down?_

Tears filled her eyes, but did not fall. Her chest felt so tight, and more than anything, she just wanted to go to him and throw her arms around him.

_All I want is to keep you safe from the cold..._

_To give you all that your heart needs the most.  
Let me raise you up.  
Let me be your love._

_May I hold you as you fall to sleep?_

_When the world is closing in and you can't breathe?  
May I love you?  
May I be your shield?  
When no one can be found, may I lay you down?_

Jace moved then, coming closer and climbing one stair toward her. Clary's breathing sped.

_All that's made me is all worth trading just to have one moment with you._

He took one more step forward and up.

_So I will let go of all that I know, knowing that you're here with me._

And then another.__

For your love is changing me.

And then he was there, just one step below her, his face now level with hers. The space between them occupied only by his guitar. He dropped his hands from it and reached into his pocket, his eyes leaving hers for only a moment before meeting them once more and he sang softly without music.__

May I hold you as you fall to sleep?

He raised his hand and between his fingers, he held a small circular object. It took Clary a moment to realize exactly what it was. But when the light of a passing car glinted over the diamond on top, she gasped and raised her hands to cover her mouth.

_When the world is closing in and you can't breathe?_

She looked up, not able to breathe for real, tears finally spilling over her cheeks. Jace leaned in and carefully took her left hand in his trembling one, his fingers brushing over her skin gently. His gaze met hers.

_May I love you?_

His eyes studied hers, moving from one to the other.

_May I be your shield?_

The question was there, in his eyes, in the words he sang, in the ring he held out in front of her, he didn't need to ask it.

_When no one can be found may I lay you down?_

She bit her lip, tears falling in streams, and with a smile, she nodded. His brows rose slightly, almost as if he had expected a different answer. And then, he slowly slid the ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. It felt smooth and cool and perfect against her skin. He moved up the final step, taking her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing the wetness from her cheeks as he touched his forehead to hers.

Silence pressed heavy around them, only the sounds of Clary's ragged breathing and the beating of their hearts registered in her ears.

"I take it that was a yes?" he asked.

Clary let out a breathy laugh, threw her arms around his neck, and nodded enthusiastically. "God, yes."

Jace smiled and pulled her face to him, his kiss burning through her. "Even though I didn't write the lyrics to that song, I meant every word. I promise I'll hold you every night while you sleep, I'll protect you within an inch of my life, and I'll love you with everything I have every single day I live. I'll give you everything you want, everything you need, everything you deserve."

She pulled him closer, raising her hands to his face and cupping his cheeks. His eyes were wide and happy. "You already have."

.o.O.o. August – one year later .o.O.o.

Clary stood in front of the full length mirror, her hands smoothing over the soft chiffon layered over her waist. She took in the floor length dress, the fabric flowing around her, light and airy. Her eyes followed her form, pleased with what they saw. It wasn't too much. Not too fancy . . . simple and elegant, just like her. She'd piled her hair loosely atop her head, curls falling freely and cascading down the side of her face and the back of her neck. A small beaded headband curved over the top of her head, holding the sheer veil at the back. Her eyes looked bright against all the white.

The door behind her opened, revealing a weeping Jocelyn, as Isabelle helped her into the room. Clary's smile widened as her mother came toward her and carefully reached out a hand, running her fingers along the edge of Clary's veil.

"You look beautiful, sweetheart." Jocelyn's voice caught. "So beautiful."

Clary felt her eyes tearing up and she waved her hand frantically in front of her face trying to ward the moisture away.

"Hell," Isabelle said and grabbed a tissue from the nearby make up table, handing it to Clary. "Don't mess up your make up yet. You have plenty of time to cry after you realize you're stuck with him forever."

Clary dabbed at her eyes and laughed. Nothing ever changed. Not Isabelle. Not Clary herself. Nothing.

A knock sounded at the door and Simon poked his head in. "Jocelyn, they're calling for you."

"Oh!" Jocelyn grabbed a few tissues, thought better of it, and grabbed the whole box before pulling Clary into a tight hug. "I love you. I'll see you out there."

Clary closed her eyes and hugged Jocelyn back. "I love you too, Mom."

Isabelle eyed Clary for a moment, her eyes unusually bright before she quickly pecked Clary on the cheek and moved behind Jocelyn. "I'll be out in the hall waiting for you." She stepped up to Simon and kissed him gently on the lips, raising her hand to brush along his cheek before exiting with Jocelyn.

Clary took in a deep breath, trying to hold in the emotion and her nerves for just a little longer.

Simon stepped fully inside the room and closed the door behind him. "You ready to do this? 'Cause you just say the word and we'll be out of here so fast you won't know how you got to where we'd go."

Clary laughed at his jumbled sentence. "I'm more than ready, Simon."

"Okay." He bent down and touched his lips to the top of her head. "You really do look good—you know, for a girl about to attach herself for a lifetime to the king of asshats everywhere." He held out his arm for her.

She beamed up at him and looped her hand through his arm. "You'd better watch what you say about my—" Her throat closed when she tried to say the word.

Simon chuckled. "See, you can't even say it."

"Shut up." She smacked him in the shoulder. "Let's go."

"Whatever you say." He led her to the door and out into the hall.

Isabelle stood in front of the entrance to the sanctuary, a single white rose in one hand and Clary's bouquet in the other. The long, olive, satin dress wrapped around her, hugging her curves and flaring at the bottom. She handed the bouquet to Clary and gave her one last smile before entering the church, walking slowly to the front, the white runner puckering at her feet. Clary drew in a deep breath and took her place next to Simon, her grip on his arm tightening as the crowd stood and peered back at her.

Simon leaned into her and whispered, "Last chance to run. I can have the car out front in thirty seconds."

She looked up at him, meeting his dark eyes and seeing all the love and care he'd always held for her reflected in them. "Take me to him," she said.

He grinned and nodded once, laying his other hand over the one she had placed on his arm and taking the first step over the threshold. Eyes bored into them as they slowly made their way down the aisle. Flashes went off and hushed murmurs sounded from all around her, but the only thing Clary saw was her golden-haired groom waiting at the front, his hands clasped carefully in front of him and his eyes glued on her. She saw his lips lift minutely on one side and she couldn't help the slight flush that gathered in her cheeks. After all these years, he still had the ability to make her blush with just the smallest of grins. The pace she and Simon kept was suddenly not speedy enough and Clary quickened her steps, pulling Simon along with her. Snickers erupted through the crowd, but Clary didn't care. She couldn't get to him fast enough.

When she and Simon reached the front, Jace came down the steps and took one of her hands gently in his. "In a hurry?" He smirked.

She narrowed her eyes. "We're not even married yet and you're already letting your asseyness show through."

He chuckled. "You . . . God, you're so beautiful." He raised a hand to her face, softly running his fingers over her skin before bending and brushing his lips against her cheek. "You take my breath away," he whispered.

Clary's own breath caught and she closed her eyes briefly before meeting his and smiling shyly. "Okay, maybe you're not an ass."

He returned the gesture and led her up the steps to stand in front of the minister, in front of their family and friends, in front of God himself, so they could all bear witness to the promises they'd make to one another. Clary repeated the words the minister asked her to and recited the ones she'd written herself. She nearly cried when Jace did the same, and finally did when he slipped the ring on her finger, lifted her hand to kiss it, and whispered, "I do."

She took his hand in her trembling one and moved his ring over the tip of his finger, down over the knuckle to finally rest against the base. And to repeat his gesture, she leaned down, placed her lips against the ring, and said, "I do."

The minister spoke, read a few passages, and music played. As much as Clary wanted to pay attention, to cement every moment into her mind, the only thing she could focus on was Jace's face and how much she loved him. How happy she was in that moment and how long it had been that she'd known he was the one. Maybe even from the first moment she saw him those years ago on the soccer field.

His eyes locked on hers and in them she saw everything she'd ever dreamed of. Safety, comfort, security, love. She didn't need a perfect future, just him, just this, just them.

Finally, the minister announced them and declared Jace could kiss his bride. The entire room fell silent, not a single person moved or baby cried. The moment was perfection, as if it were only the two of them. And for all intents and purposes, it was.

Jace took a step forward and Clary raised her gaze to his. It seemed an eternity in that one moment, the eternity he'd promised come to life. He raised his hands and carefully placed them on either side of her face, his thumbs brushing along her cheekbones. Clary drew in a trembling breath and brought her hands up to circle his wrists. He leaned into her and just before his lips touched hers, she closed her eyes. The same warmth and softness that always accompanied his kiss engulfed her, filling her with so much emotion she could hardly contain herself.

The eruption of cheers around them barely registered as her husband kissed her for the first time. She wanted it to never end, to just stay there, living inside this bubble for the rest of their lives.

When Jace pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers and smiled. "I love you, Pippi. Always."

She raised her hands to his face and ran her fingers along his cheeks and up into his hair. Her eyes met his. "Take me home, Mr. Wayland."

His grin grew impossibly larger. "Oh, hell yes, Mrs. Wayland." He bent at the knees and scooped her up into his arms, making his way down the steps and the aisle.

Clary laughed and held her hand to her head, trying to keep her veil from falling off. The crowd filed into the aisle behind them and followed them out to the front of the church. Clary tossed the bouquet over her shoulder, not even watching where it landed as Jace placed her gently in the front seat of the car. He leaned down and kissed her once more before tucking her dress inside and shutting the door behind him. Clary rolled down the window and blew a kiss to her mother who was blubbering into Luke's shoulder, then she waved to Isabelle and Simon who stood holding hands and nuzzling near the edge of the crowd. Clary's bouquet lay at Isabelle's feet.

Jace hopped in the driver's seat and promptly took Clary's hand, kissing her ring finger before starting the car and pulling away from the curb. Clary turned and watched as their family and friends spilled into the street, still waving and growing smaller the further they drove down the palm tree lined street.

"So," Jace asked. "What did you think? Was it what you hoped?"

She turned to him and smiled. "Better."

He nodded, and rubbed circles on the top of her hand with his thumb.

The sun had nearly set by the time they reached the apartment they would now share. Boxes of Clary's things still littered the living room and bedroom, but none of those were noticed tonight. They did the cliché "carry over the threshold" thing, because God knew, they needed every bit of good luck they could get given their pasts.

Jace set her down carefully in the middle of the living room and gazed at her, appraising her like she was something priceless and precious. Clary met his eyes, her heart thrumming in her chest, and moved forward, raising her hands to his suit jacket. A slight shaking was visible in them no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

She traced the black lapels and worked her way up to the white tie around his neck. Slowly, she loosened it and pulled it over his head. Her fingers fell to his face and traced lightly over his brow, down his nose, and over his cheekbones. Jace closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, his skin warm and slightly rough with returning stubble.

Lowering her hands to his shoulders, she slipped them under his jacket and pushed the sleeves off his arms, her fingers memorizing the feel of the lean muscle underneath thin material. With a quiet swish, the jacket fell to a heap on the floor at his feet. As always, the same electricity crackled around them, drawing them nearer in an effort to quell the pull over them.

Jace reached up, his long fingers gentle, and carefully removed the headband and veil from her head. He set it down on the end table nearby and moved his hand back, unclasping the clip holding her hair up. It fell in tumbling waves down her back. The feel of it against her skin caused Clary to shiver. Jace moved a group of red tendrils that had fallen forward over her collarbone and bent down, touching his lips to the bare skin of her shoulder where it met her neck.

Clary closed her eyes and dropped her head, resting it against him while her lips brushed the skin of his neck and her hands worked the buttons on his shirt. One by one, they opened, revealing the beautifully scarred flesh beneath. Her fingers itched to touch him and so she did. Jace pressed his forehead to the top of her head and ran his fingers up her neck and into her hair.

Lowering her mouth to his chest, Clary softly kissed along the ridge of his collarbone, untucking the shirt from his pants as she did, letting her hands linger at his newly bare sides. Jace quickly discarded his shirt and reached up to cup Clary's cheeks before pressing his lips to hers. She opened against him, letting him in, allowing him to taste and receiving him in return.

The kiss was the same as always, but better.

His mouth molded to hers, moving with it perfectly. Taking and receiving. They knew each other so well, their mouths, their hands, their hearts.

Clary's fingers explored the expanse of his chest and stomach, feeling all that was hers, finally, all hers. Each dip and groove, every scar and ripple of muscle. Hers.

Jace moved one of his hands up and slowly untied the halter at the back of her neck, threading his fingers into her hair once more. The fabric fell aimlessly from her, pooling in a white wave at her feet. She kicked off her shoes and stepped out from the middle of her dress, her fingers traveling immediately down his abs to his belt buckle. They worked it for a moment before she had it unclasped and slipping from the loops. It clattered to the floor beside his shirt and jacket. His pants came next and Clary stepped back for a moment to admire him in only a pair of boxer briefs.

She watched as the dying light of the sun stretched over his body, giving it a soft glow as the color slowly faded from the room. "You really are beautiful," she said. "I've always thought that, but now . . . now you just . . ." She met his eyes and repeated his words from earlier. "You take my breath away too."

Jace let out a slow breath and moved close to her once more, his fingers trailing up her arms and following the curve of her neck before tracing her jaw gently. His gaze lingered on her face, as if he were memorizing every facet of her. Clary trembled under his touch. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Clary closed her eyes for a moment and nodded before opening them again. "I'm nervous," she whispered.

"Me too," he said.

"Really?"

"Mmhmm." His fingers continued to trace the lines of her cheeks. "There's only one first time and I don't want to screw it up."

Clary raised her hands to cover his. "You won't. You couldn't."

He chuckled. "Well, I'm glad you have faith in me. It helps."

She studied him for a moment, still in awe that this man was hers. "Jace?"

"Yeah?"

"You could never screw it up because all I need is for you to love me. That's all. Just . . . love me."

"I do." He leaned forward and brushed his lips along her jaw. "I will. Always."

Clary closed her eyes and draped her arms around his neck, reveling in the feel of his warm skin against hers. Jace slipped his hands down her back, over her backside, and under her thighs, lifting her onto his hips. She wrapped her legs around him, her lips finding his as he walked them back to the bedroom. The door shut quietly behind them as she consumed him, his taste intoxicating her and his hands on her skin causing her to shiver.

She felt him kneel on the bed and gently guide her up until her head hit the pillows. His lips trailed down her neck, nipping and sucking on her skin. Her hands fisted into his hair as his fingers traced across her stomach. Goosebumps rose on her skin along the trails his touch left.

His mouth found hers once more and she raised herself up on her elbows as he snaked around her back, unclasping her bra and drawing it carefully from her body. A gasp escaped from her throat as his hand drew up her side and cupped her gently, his thumb passing over her sensitive flesh.

Jace kissed her mouth one more time before moving down to her neck, across her collarbone, her chest, and finally ending at her stomach. His fingers hooked into the sides of her panties and slowly drew them down her legs, his lips finding skin to brush all the way down to her ankles. Clary closed her eyes as his hand slid up her calf, over her knee, and down the outside of her thigh so achingly slow, she whimpered.

"Jace."

"Hmm?" he hummed into her skin.

She reached down and tugged his boxers over his hips. He pulled them the rest of the way off, throwing them to the floor beside the bed. Jace's eyes met hers and he crawled up to her, settling himself on top and supporting his weight with his elbows. His breathing was fast, and Clary could feel his heart beating against her chest.

This was the moment they'd both been waiting so long for. The decision to wait was a difficult one to make, but they'd made it and stuck to it. And now, the wait was over. There were no more barriers, no more time, nothing standing in their way.

Clary reached up and cupped his cheeks, aware of him against her and wanting to feel more. She pulled his face to hers and kissed him, her lips lingering against his as she said, "I want to feel you. Please, let me feel you."

He let out a slow breath and took her hands, lacing his fingers with hers. "I'll be careful. I promise I'll be careful, but it—"

"I know," she said, meeting his stare. "It's okay."

Jace leaned down and touched his lips to hers then pulled back, resting his forehead against hers. "I don't want to hurt you," he whispered.

"You're not. Not really. I'll be okay. I promise."

He nodded, his forehead still pressed against hers and his breathing increasing once more. After a momentary pause, his grip on her hands tightened and he moved, his breath hitching as he did. And then, she felt him.

Everywhere.

Above her, around her, inside her.

And it felt strange and wonderful and . . . painful.

She gasped against the hurt and squeezed his hands, her own breath catching in her throat. Unwanted tears slipped over the side of her face and he kissed them away, whispering a thousand "I love yous" in her ear. His body trembled above hers and she knew it took an enormous amount of restraint for him to stay still, but he did.

After a bit, the pain lessened and she loosened her grip on his hands, her eyes meeting his. Concern filled his gaze, and she couldn't help but smile. In an effort to assure him she was all right, she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him fully against her. His breath came out in a gush and he lowered his head to her shoulder. She removed her hands from his, stretched one across the expanse of his back, and threaded the other into his hair, holding him flush against her.

The pain was almost nonexistent as he started to move again. Jace lifted his face and pressed it to hers, their lips open and touching but not kissing, their breaths intermingling. Clary's heart and body accepted him fully, as if she were made exclusively for him and him for her.

The concept of "becoming one" always sounded so trite and cliché. But now, Clary understood what the saying meant. Nothing stood between them anymore, nothing physical, nothing emotional, nothing spiritual. It was all pleasure and love and fulfillment. He felt strong and safe under her hands. His heart, his soul, his body, hers. All hers. She was protected and cherished in his arms. At the end of the day, that was all that really mattered. Her whole heart, her whole body, her whole soul was loved. _She_ was loved. And she loved in return.

.o.O.o. March – Five Years Later .o.O.o.

Jocelyn's hand encased Clary's as they stood alongside the neatly groomed plot. The gray stone still looked the same as it had nine years prior, if not just a little more worn. Jonathan's name still stood out, stark and bold against the smooth surface of the rock. Clary tightened her grip and Jocelyn's thumb moved over Clary's knuckles.

"I can't believe it's been nine years," Jocelyn said, her eyes glued to the green grass in front of her.

"Me neither." Clary wrapped her arm around her mother's waist and leaned into her. "It still feels like yesterday."

Jocelyn nodded but didn't speak.

Clary knelt down and placed the bundle of flowers they'd brought against the stone, tracing her fingers over Jonathan's name as she stood. A cool breeze swept through her hair and she shivered, raising her hands and rubbing them along her arms to ward off the chill.

A single tear trailed down Jocelyn's cheek as a small smile pulled at her lips. "He'd be so happy for you, Clary. So happy."

Clary smiled. "I know. And he'd be happy for you too." She traced her finger over the gold wedding band on Jocelyn's left hand. "He always liked Luke."

"Who wouldn't?" Jocelyn laughed. "Luke's a likable guy."

"That's true." The sun disappeared behind a gray cloud and Clary glanced up, frowning. "It looks like it might rain. We should go."

Jocelyn patted Clary's hand and nodded. They started along the gravel path, neither speaking, but neither needing to. Every year on the anniversary of Jonathan's death, they did the same thing. They'd meet and go to his grave together. Even though she and Jace still lived in L.A., they made it a point to return home for it. Given the early spring date, Jace normally had a practice lull so traveling then worked out quite well for them. Jace and Luke told them over and over that if they wanted, they'd come too, but Jocelyn and Clary always declined. This was something they liked to share together. Sort of a private moment between the two of them.

Luke stood near the cemetery gate as they approached. He reached out and took Jocelyn's hand, before pulling her to him and kissing the top of her head.

"So," Jocelyn said. "What are your plans for the rest of the day?"

Clary hiked her bag up over her shoulder and pushed her hair back out of her face. "Well, Jace went with Max to check out one of the schools on his list so he won't be back until later. I promised Izzy I'd come over and go through napkin samples with her." Clary rolled her eyes. "I swear, this wedding can't be over fast enough."

Jocelyn laughed. "I seem to recall her helping quite a bit with yours."

"Yes, but the difference is, mine was simple. Hers is like a freaking circus!"

"Simon and Isabelle are your best friends and you're playing the part of best man and matron of honor. Those are some big shoes to fill."

"Yeah, yeah." Clary waved her mother's comment away. "I guess I should get going. I'd like to get a nap in before I'm subjected to more wedding torture." Clary leaned in, first kissing Luke's cheek and then her mother's. She bid them farewell and turned to head toward her car, when she noticed a blond headed figure seated on the swing at the park next to the cemetery. Grinning to herself, she walked over.

"I thought you wouldn't be back for a few more hours?" she said as she lowered herself onto the swing next to him.

Jace glanced up and grinned. "You want me to leave again and come back later?"

She shook her head. "Of course not. But I figured you and Max would be enjoying yourselves while all those co-eds fawned over you."

"Yeah." He looked up at the sky, a sly smirk affixed to his face. "That was fun." Clary reached out and shoved him. He laughed, grabbed her hips, and pulled her swing over to his, kissing her lightly on the mouth. "Max liked the school. I think maybe this might be the one." He stared at her for a moment, his eyes washing over her face. "You know those girls have nothing on you, Pippi." His fingers swept across her cheek, pushing a chunk of hair behind her ear.

"Still such a sweet talker, aren't you?"

"Mmhmm." He leaned forward and brushed his lips along her jaw.

Clary closed her eyes and sighed at the sensation. "Too bad I know you're full of crap. Especially because I know I look utterly hideous right now."

He peppered kisses down her neck, along her collarbone, and up under her chin. "I think," his lips moved to each corner of her mouth and then rested directly on the center, "you've never been hotter."

Clary screwed her face up into a disbelieving expression and pulled back. Jace gazed at her, amusement in his eyes. She couldn't hold back a smile. "You're a horrible liar."

Shaking his head, he moved his hands up over her hips and rested them on her waist. "Not lying. You're beautiful."

Clary sighed and reached up to tangle a hand in his golden curls, her thumb brushing over his cheek. "You know you don't have to say things like that to win me. I'm already yours, remember?"

"I remember." He smirked before lowering his head and placing a soft kiss to the rounded protrusion of her swollen belly.

.o.O.o. May – Two Months Later .o.O.o.

It hurt. God, it hurt. Clary's entire body vibrated with pain. The stupid beeping of the monitor next to her made her want to kill something, or at least kick it in the balls. Either would be fine at that point. Just as long as it took her attention away from the agony.

A nurse, about her age, adjusted the drip on Clary's IV and then handed her a cup of ice. Clary wanted nothing to do with it and swatted it out of the nurse's hand. The plastic cup went flying, the cold chips scattering over the floor. The nurse sighed and bent to retrieve what she could, swiping a paper towel against the wetness.

Another pain clenched Clary's abdomen, a low groan escaping her lips. "Where's Jace?" She panted through the hurt. "I want Jace. Where is he?"

"Admissions needed him to fill out some paper work. They'll let him come back once he finishes."

Clary shook her head, tears squeezing from underneath her clenched lids. "No. Now. I need him now."

"It'll only be—"

"No, now!" Clary yelled, thinking she should probably feel bad for going off on the poor girl, but didn't she understand that she was in pain? That they were keeping her only comfort from her? "Please." Her voice came out pathetic and whiney. "I need him."

The nurse's eyes turned understanding and she nodded. "I'll bring him back."

Relief flooded over Clary and she closed her eyes, concentrating on breathing through the pain. She didn't know how long she lay there, panting with each fresh wave of agony, before she felt him enter the room. He reached the side of the bed, his scent wafting around her and comforting her almost instantly. Bending down, he touched his lips to her sweaty forehead. "I'm sorry. Those asshats wouldn't let me back until I dotted all my i's and crossed all my t's."

Despite the building pressure in her abdomen, Clary smiled. She opened her eyes and met his, calmness flooding over her. Reaching out, she grabbed his hand and placed it on her swollen stomach. Just as his skin touched hers, another pain squeezed her tightly and she cried out. Jace lowered his forehead to hers, whispering calming and reassuring words as she breathed. It wouldn't be long now. Even though this was her first time, somehow, she knew. Her body knew what to do, tightening and releasing in the way it was made to.

Soon, the room flooded with doctors and nurses. They busied themselves, some surrounding Clary's bed, fiddling with her monitors and IV, and others readying blankets and clothes. Jace stayed at Clary's side, one hand clutching hers and the other at the back of her head, helping her stay upright.

The pain was different now. It had purpose and she worked with it. She was tired and her legs shook with exhaustion, but she was so close. She could feel it.

"One more, Clary," the doctor said, his eyes meeting hers over the top of his mask after the last pain died away.

Clary nodded and lay back, catching her breath before the buildup began again. Her eyes found Jace's, and in them she saw everything she felt: fear, anticipation, love. She smiled weakly at him and turned her face toward him, searching for his lips. He bent and touched his mouth to hers gently, his hand wiping the sweat covered hair from her forehead.

"I love you," she said.

"Always, Pippi."

She closed her eyes as the pressure started to build from the top and traveled down to the bottom, squeezing her entire abdomen into a rock hard mass. Propping herself back up, Jace supported her with his hand once more and she squeezed his other one as she bore down.

A satisfying pain swelled inside her, the ache moving down and burning with intense heat as it seared through her. It increased and swelled and intensified until she felt as though she couldn't take another second, and then it was over.

The doctor worked furiously under the cover of the sheet draped over her knees and when she heard him say, "A little more, Clary," she gave a little more. The sensation was odd and uncomfortable, but after a few seconds, she was free. Free from pain. Free from anticipation. Free from fear.

Just as she caught her breath, the sweetest sound ripped through the room. A cry. A simple, brief, amazing cry.

Tears stung Clary's eyes and spilled over when she heard the tiny voice. Jace's hand tightened on hers and she turned into him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Their moment was interrupted by the voice of one of the nurses.

"Do you want to cut the cord, Daddy?"

Jace looked up, his eyes wide and gleaming before meeting Clary's.

She smiled and nodded, urging him forward. He stood and walked with the nurse over to the foot of the bed. She handed him a pair of scissors and pointed out where to cut. He did as he was told, and a moment later, the doctor handed him a wrapping of white blankets. Standing slowly upright, his eyes stayed wide and glued to the squirming bundle in his arms. A small grin pulled at the corner of his mouth, and the tears that had been building in his eyes spilled over his cheeks. Shifting the baby onto one arm, he lifted his other hand and reached out a finger, gently stroking the tiny cheek.

Clary raised her hands to cover her mouth, her own tears clouding her vision. She blinked rapidly against them, wanting nothing more than to see these two beings, the two she loved more than anything else on earth, together for the first time. Jace looked up at her, his mouth stretching into a genuine smile and Clary couldn't help but reciprocate. He moved toward her, his gaze shifting between her and the tiny person he held in his arms. When he reached her side, he said softly, "She's beautiful."

Clary's breath caught. "She?"

He glanced up, smiled once more, and nodded. "She. A girl."

A breathy laugh pushed into Clary's throat and Jace leaned down, kissing her forehead softly and placing the bundle in her waiting arms. Clary looked down and raised her hand to move aside the blanket covering the baby's face. She gasped at what the removal revealed. "Oh my God. It's—"

"Strawberry blond."

She glanced up at Jace and he grinned.

"A little bit you and a little bit me," he said proudly.

Clary beamed at him before returning her gaze to the tiny girl in her arms. Her fingers played with the abundance of curls atop her head, and then traced along her perfect porcelain cheek—the exact color of Clary's own. Her eyes took in the pouty shape of her lips, the smooth tiny nose, and wide, expressive eyes, all miniature replicas of her daddy's. "She _is_ beautiful," Clary whispered and looked back at Jace. "She looks exactly like you."

He chuckled and pressed his lips to Clary's head. "Not exactly. She's pale as a ghost, just like you." He gazed at the baby girl for a moment. "God, I hope she has your freckles."

Clary laughed and laid her head against his chest. His arm went around her, his hand resting under their little girl's head. He leaned down and kissed the tiny head and Clary's eyes filled with tears once more.

Moments later, the doctor announced that Jace could take the baby to see their family who waited outside while they tended to Clary. Jace looked at her apprehensively, but she nodded her approval. She handed their daughter back to him and he took her carefully, his body already cocooning around her protectively. She smiled as she watched him walk toward the exit, his eyes always on his little girl's face. He turned back just as he reached the door, gave Clary his signature smirk, and winked. Clary smiled in return and kept her eyes on his back until the door closed behind him. Finally, she lay back in the bed, her body, heart, and mind exhausted, but never having felt better. In that moment, she was content. There was nothing else she could want, nothing else she could ask for, nothing else she could ever need.

.o.O.o.

A loud peel of thunder jolted Clary awake, her heart hammering in her chest as her hand instinctively reached over to the opposite side of the bed, searching for the warmth that usually occupied it, but finding only cool smoothness in its place. She raised her hand, pushing her hair back away from her forehead and taking in a deep breath. Another rumble echoed from ouside her window, the sound conjuring old memories and causing her heart to thud. Sitting up, she stretched her arms over her head and stood.

The bedroom door hung open a crack and she pushed it the rest of the way, stealing silently down the hall. She stopped at the door at the end, her fingers tracing over the plaque her mother had painted as a coming home gift. _Abigail Celine._ A small smile pulled at her lips.

Nudging the door open with her fingers, Clary peered inside, her eyes landing immediately on Jace. He sat in the rocking chair next to the crib, asleep, with their daughter sprawled over his bare chest. One large hand splayed across her back while the other tucked up under her, keeping her safely swaddled in the curve of his arm. With a grin, Clary tip-toed into the room, stopping only when she reached them and leaned over, pressing her lips softly to Jace's.

His head moved slightly to the side and he opened his eyes. He glanced up at her, his gaze hooded and sleepy.

She grinned and ran her fingers through his hair, pushing the tangled mess out of his eyes. "You fell asleep rocking Abby again."

He closed his eyes for a moment and shifted in the chair. It creaked beneath him. "What time is it?"

"Two."

He groaned and stood carefully, trying his hardest not to wake the sleeping baby. As he leaned over the side of the crib, Clary placed her palm against his lower back, watching as he laid their daughter gently onto the mattress, his fingers swiping across her cheek and patting her tummy before pulling back completely. He brought his hands up to his face, rubbing them over it before wrapping one arm around Clary and bringing her to him, kissing the top of her head.

"Come on," she said, leading him from the room by the hand.

He followed, not saying a word. Once they reached their bedroom, he collapsed onto the bed, his hand rising to his hair, running through it as if to lull himself back to sleep. Clary stood over him, looking down.

He glanced up at her. "What?"

"Nothing." She shrugged. "Just admiring the goods, that's all."

He grinned and held his hand out to her. "Come here."

She returned his smile and climbed onto the bed, tucking herself into his side, his arm under her shoulders and his hand running through her hair. He sighed and pulled her closer into him, softly humming under his breath.

Clary closed her eyes. "You'd better stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Humming. You know what it does to me."

He chuckled and shifted until he faced her, his head propped up on his hand. Peering down at her, a crooked grin pulled at his lips. "Really?"

She smacked his chest lightly. "You know it does."

He smiled wider and dipped his head down until his lips touched her neck just under her chin and swept along her jaw. "So what happens if I do this?" His fingers trailed up her spine, lightly tracing her skin all the way to her hairline. She gasped as a shiver shook her. With his mouth barely touching, he sang the words into her ear. The same words he'd sung to her years before that had brought them to where they were today.

_May I hold you, as you fall to sleep?_

_When the world is closing in, and you can't breathe._

_May I love you?_

_May I be your shield?_

_When no one can be found, may I lay you down?_

Clary breathed out slowly and reached up to grab his face. "That was really not nice."

He smiled and placed a small kiss to her nose. "Yes, it was."

Shaking her head, she pushed against him until his back lay flush to the mattress. She draped her leg over his body and sat up, straddling him. His hands moved to her hips and hers brushed over his chest. Leaning down she placed several kisses along his jaw until she ended at his ear and whispered, "You know, I really shouldn't reward you for that."

"I think maybe you should. Many women would die for their husbands to serenade them." His thumbs traced circles into her flesh.

"Mmhmm. And you would know this how?"

"Because I'm very attuned to the wants and needs of those of the female persuasion. You know this, Pippi." His breathing accelerated as she dropped more kisses to his neck and Clary felt his pulse quicken under her lips. She smiled against his skin.

"You're such a cocky bastard."

"Yes, I am. But honestly, would you want me any other way?"

Clary sat up and met his eyes in the dark. They glowed knowingly and she grinned. "Not even a little bit." Her hands came up and gripped his face, pulling against him until he rose to a seated position.

His mouth met hers and his arms wrapped around her, holding her against him as if he were afraid she'd disappear if he loosened his grip. The feel of his skin against hers ignited all the feelings she'd pushed back over the last six weeks while her body healed. But now, having just been cleared by her doctor that day, she was whole once again and she needed him in the way only she could be with him.

Jace lifted her from him and laid her carefully on her back before settling his body on top of hers. His hands trailed along her cheeks and his lips followed. "You're so incredibly lucky to have married me," he said.

Clary laughed, twisted her hands into his hair, and pulled his mouth back to hers. "God, you're an ass," she said against his lips as she tugged on his shoulders, wanting to feel him closer, needing to feel him closer. He complied, putting nearly all of his weight on her and she sighed. His mouth found hers again, taking, giving, tasting, loving. It was too much and not enough at the same time.

Soon, their clothes were gone and their hands were everywhere, grasping, feeling, receiving. So many sensations and pleasures crashed over them as they moved together, completing and absorbing one another. Only the sounds of the rain and their kisses, breathing, and heartbeats filled the otherwise quiet space.

To some, maybe their life wouldn't seem like much. Maybe it would seem boring or cliché or just . . . simple. To Clary, it was anything but. It was more than she'd imagined, more than she'd ever expected. She didn't need riches or fancy things. She just needed him and the love he gave her. She just needed their daughter and the fulfilling feeling it gave to be her mother. She just needed their family and the support and care they gave to them. Possessions and status meant very little to her, and she was okay with being just Clary. Because this life wasn't boring or simple or cliché. It was everything she'd ever hoped for herself. Everything she could have ever wanted. It wasn't without its hardships or pain, but in spite of that, it was—in all of its imperfection—perfect for her.

_And they lived . . . not happily ever after, not in a perpetual state of bliss, nor did they ride off into the sunset. They just simply . . . lived._


	34. Outtake: Chapter 12: JPOV

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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_Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much._

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_**Alternate Chapter 12: Jace POV**_

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_Smack. Smack. Smack._ Jace clenched his fists at his sides in irritation, wishing to God he was deaf at the moment. Looking up at the clock, he sighed. Thirty minutes to go. Thirty minutes. That was it and then he'd be free. _Smack. Smack. Smack. _He repeated the supposedly soothing words to himself. _Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes. You can do this, Wayland. Just a measly thirty minutes. _But, holy mother of God if she didn't stop with the damn gum he may just pierce his own eardrums with the first sharp object he found. Yes, he knew he was being melodramatic, but at that moment he just didn't care.

Apparently, everything Kaelie did annoyed him. Her voice, her laugh, the way she would not stop running her nails up and down his arm, how rude she acted toward Clary at the house, and now with the incessant smacking of her gum—he was pretty much at his wits end. Though, he couldn't entirely blame his assy mood on her. Ever since he'd seen Clary at the house, all white and perfect and—just . . . there were no words, he couldn't stop the anxious bubble swelling in his chest.

He'd tried his hardest all afternoon to avoid both her and Isabelle, not wanting to have to force himself not to look. But, as his rotten luck would have it, she stood right before him as he exited his room. He could not control his eyes from raking over her form, taking in the stunning innocence before him.

And then damn Isabelle. She just had to ask him what he thought of Clary's look. What was he going to say? Lie? Say she looked all right? Act like her standing before him in all her silkiness and creamy skin didn't affect him? How the hell could he manage that when just the sight of her like that practically had him panting like a dog?

Instead, he'd gone with a combination of both—not intentionally by any means. He just couldn't look away. Couldn't make his eyes leave hers. So, he stared like an idiot and mumbled something about her looking nice. He couldn't even remember. All he knew was that the amount of skin she showed distracted him from his normal cool and aptly linguistic demeanor. There was too much.

The tiny spaghetti straps and low cut front accentuated her narrow shoulders, perfect neck, and collar bones in a way that should have been outlawed. Especially when it came to hormonal teenage douchebags like himself. And then his thoughts shifted to the fact that other hormonal teenage douchebags would be seeing that same sexy expanse of skin and—well, he just couldn't have that.

As much as he knew he shouldn't touch her, that it would only make staying away from her all that much more difficult, he had to cover up some of that skin. Just the thought of some other guy eyeing her up made his whole body tense with possessive jealousy.

His hand trembled slightly as he raised it to the back of her head, being careful not to brush against her at all, and clamped his fingers around the plastic clip securing her hair up. Squeezing gently, he pulled it away, freeing the curly red locks. As they fell free, tumbling in a jumbled mess to her shoulders and swaying lightly as they brushed the top of her shoulders, her scent billowed out toward him, flooding his senses and nearly making him lose his focus and grab her right there in front of Isabelle. In an effort to dispel the enticing aroma, he blew out a breath. And as if he didn't already feel enough like a total ass, the cosmos decided to play with him a little more and his breath came out all weak and shaky.

Her eyes stayed on him, never wavering in the slightest bit. Part of him wanted to look away, to be free from the overwhelming need to reach out and touch her, to find out for himself if she really was as soft as she looked. The only thing that saved both of them from what served to be a very awkward situation was the arrival of his date from hell.

_Smack. Smack. Smack._ The annoying sound brought him out of his thoughts. With a sigh, he turned away from the group of Kaelie's friends he'd had to hang around all evening, and let his eyes roam the room. It was like any other dance he'd ever been to. Kids dressed up, trying to appear older than they were. Couples clung to each other and smashed their faces together, as if public displays made them cool or something. Even if Jace had been there with someone he wanted to kiss and dance with, he wasn't a big fan of PDA. He preferred things a little more private. Which was a big reason for his predicament that evening.

Kaelie had definitely caught him off guard in the lunch room Tuesday. She was lucky he'd been preoccupied fuming over his childish jealousies because that stunt may have landed her on her ass under normal circumstances. It was a reflex more than anything—not that she wouldn't have deserved it for pushing herself on him. But it wasn't like he wanted to freak out whenever someone tried to touch him unexpectantly. He hated it, in fact.

_Smack. Smack. Smack. Jesus! Enough with the gum!_

Finally, Jace spied Isabelle and Simon near the food table. He removed Kaelie's arm from his and stepped away from her.

Kaelie turned her big blue eyes to him and batted her mascara encrusted lashes. "Where are you going?" She reached out to him.

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets in an effort to keep her from grabbing onto him again. "I need to go ask my sister something."

Kaelie glanced in Isabelle's direction and frowned. "Oh. Do you want me to come with you?"

He fought back the urge to roll his eyes. "No."

"But, they're going to be playing the last songs and I want to dance," she whined.

"So, go dance." He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, trying not to say something rude. "You don't need to hang on me every second." Oh. Too late.

She pouted and walked over to him, placing her palms against his chest and leaning in. "But you're my date. I want to dance with you." Glancing up from under her lashes, she ran a blood-red fingernail down the buttons of his shirt.

Jace grabbed her hand just before she reached his belt buckle and pushed it away. "We've been standing here for the last twenty minutes talking to _your_ friends. You could at least give me a few to talk to my sister."

"Fine." She scowled. "But don't take too long. I don't want to miss the last dance." She winked.

"Whatever." He mumbled as he turned and rolled his eyes, letting out a slow breath of relief as the feet between them grew further. Jace knew he was being a complete and utter ass of the highest order, but he just couldn't take it anymore. At the beginning of the evening, he tried his hardest to act like a proper date. He'd danced with her, talked to her friends, let her cling to his arm. It wasn't Kaelie's fault he hadn't been paying attention when she'd asked him. Though he was pretty suspicious that she'd known he wasn't listening and used that as her opportunity to rope him into going.

But as the night wore on, she became much more aggressive in her advances on him and he just wasn't interested. Not in the least. Short of actually saying the words, he'd done everything he could not to lead her on. He kept her from leaning into his body during dances and his hands stayed firmly on her waist, never straying north or south. Whenever she tried to steal another kiss, he found a way to avert his face. He never allowed her to hold his hand, or gave any other indication that might be construed as interest on his part. She still didn't get it.

When he reached the refreshment table, he moved next to Isabelle, grabbed a cup of punch and downed it in three seconds. Crushing the cup in his palm, he tossed it in the nearby trashcan and crossed his arms over his chest.

Isabelle popped a piece of pineapple in her mouth and eyed Jace with amusement. "Having fun?"

"Loads," he replied.

She chuckled. "Well, I am."

"That's great Isabelle. Why don't you rub it in a little more, I think you missed a spot."

"You're crabby."

He turned to her and narrowed his eyes. "I'm not crabby, I'm—irritated."

"Same difference, Jace."

He sighed. "So, where are your friends?" _More specifically, Clary._

"Simon went to 'the little boys' room." She rolled her eyes and tweaked her fingers in the air when she said "little boys room." "God, he's such a geek." She laughed. "And, Clary is—" Craning her neck, she searched the crowd and then pointed. "There. With Mr. Hotstuff."

Jace turned in the direction Isabelle pointed, knowing whatever he saw would probably piss him off. He saw her near the edge of the crowd, her hands on Sebastian's shoulders, and his clutching her waist. The same possessive anger flared up inside him as he watched her with him. He didn't know if the anger was because it was Sebastian, or if he just wished it was himself instead. At that moment, her gaze locked with his and her brows pinched together in the middle.

"Your date is coming over here," Isabelle said.

Jace tore his eyes away from Clary and looked behind him. With a groan, he swore under his breath.

Isabelle laughed. "Okay, well, you'll owe me, but I'll stall her if you wanna make a fast get away."

He turned to her and quirked one brow.

She shrugged. "I'm feeling generous in a sisterly way tonight."

His mouth lifted into a small grin.

"Better go, she's gaining on you."

Jace leaned over and pecked Isabelle on the cheek as he passed.

"Ew, Jace!" She swiped at her face. "Now you owe me double!"

He chuckled as he made his way to the dark corner of the gym. Just a few minutes away from Kaelie's relentless whining, that's all he needed. Then he could go back, dance with her one more time, and then finally be able to take her home. He shuddered at the thought of what he knew she'd try when he dropped her off. Leaning up against the wall, cloaked in shadows, he closed his eyes and took a few relaxing breaths. His patience was nearly depleted. He didn't even know if he could last one more dance.

When he opened his eyes, he found he was no longer alone. Clary stood at the edge of the darkness, facing the dancing crowd. He took a moment to just look at her. Having been occupied all evening, he hadn't really had the chance. She looked just as beautiful after two hours of dancing as she had that afternoon. The soft, white silk of her dress hugged her body perfectly. Not too clingy and not too loose. Her hair still hung in large, soft curls, just touching the top of her back. She swayed slightly to the music.

With a grin, he slipped his hand into his pocket, feeling the cool metal of the tiny bell she'd given him. He'd taken to carrying it with him whenever he knew he'd see her. Even though she meant it as a joke, he thought the gesture was pretty damn cute and he was determined to actually use it one day. He didn't care if it was cheesy. It was the only way he could express to her that she was special to him, that he acknowledged the fact that she'd made something especially for him. He knew he wasn't allowed to say it, or even really feel it, but he couldn't help it. If this small gesture could say that for him, he'd take it. Cheese be damned.

Pushing off the wall with his foot, he crossed through the darkness until he stood just behind her. He noticed her eyes were closed. Pulling the bell from his pocket, he lifted it carefully to her ear and jiggled it lightly. She turned and opened her eyes, a smile spreading across her lips at the realization of what it was. He couldn't help smiling at her reaction. Reaching up, she wrapped her fingers around the bell, and he released it into her hand, stepping up beside her.

"You brought this?" She looked up at him, curiosity and a little bit of disbelief in her eyes.

He stared out at the crowd for a moment, trying to rein in his thudding heart before shrugging and glancing down at her with a smile. "I always have it with me. I never know when I'll need to _not_ surprise you."

He heard her breath catch as she lowered her gaze once more, closing her fist around the tiny silver bell. "So, what are you doing over here?"

"Hiding." He smiled.

"From who?"

"My date."

Clary whipped around to face him. "What? Why?"

He scrunched his nose and shrugged. "She's getting on my nerves."

Clary laughed. "That's not very nice. If she annoys you so much why'd you ask her?"

He raised his brows and looked at her, figuring Isabelle would have told her about what happened at lunch. Apparently not. "I didn't ask her. She asked me and I accidentally said yes."

"How can you 'accidentally say yes' to someone?"

"Well, it's actually quite easy when you can't stand the sound of their voice and aren't listening to a word they're saying." In his periphery, he spied a flash of red and an abundance of blonde hair. "Oh hell," he said and slipped behind the heavy performance curtains behind him, feeling pretty stupid but really not wanting to dance with Kaelie anymore.

"Jace? What the—" Clary started and he reached out, grabbing her arm and tugging her behind the curtain with him, his finger covering her lips. He wasn't ready to let her go yet.

"Shh," he said.

"I could have sworn I saw him over here, Kaelie." A voice on the other side of the curtain said. "He's around here somewhere. Let's check over by the bathrooms."

Kaelie's frustrated sigh came through the curtain.

"Well hurry up, then. God! I want to dance," Kaelie said.

Jace chuckled. He couldn't help it. After being annoyed by her all night, her irritation amused him. It wasn't until Clary pulled away that Jace realized he'd been hugging her tight against him.

"So, you're hiding from a girl? Real mature, Jace."

"I know, what can I say, she's kinda scary and I'm not really into scary women." He held back a shudder.

Clary laughed. "I could have told you that."

They were silent for a few minutes. Neither of them feeling the need to speak. Jace felt her close proximity and itched to pull her back against him again. Even though he'd only realized it just before she pulled away, the feel of her against him was unlike anything he'd ever felt. And he wanted it again. Wanted her in his arms, just this once. Who would know? No one. It was just them. No Isabelle. No Parents. Barely even any light. Just them. Alone. In the dark, hidden behind a heavy curtain. But as much as he wanted it, he couldn't have it. Couldn't have her. He _knew_ that.

After a few minutes, with reluctance, he spoke again. "You probably want to get back out there."

"Nope. I'm good." She paused. "Why? Do you want to go back out there?"

His chest clenched slightly. She wanted to stay with him. "Um, no. Not even in the littlest bit."

"Well, don't you want to dance? That's what you're supposed to do at one of these things, after all."

He paused for a moment and spoke his sincerest thoughts quietly. "There's no one out there I want to dance with."

"Oh."

He sucked in a breath, knowing what he was about to do and trying his hardest to talk himself out of it. His conscience warred inside him. One side telling him to just go for it. No one would know. But the other telling him to think of Isabelle and what she'd been through before. She was finally starting to stop hating him so much. Could he really afford to risk that again? But this was Clary and she was so close. He just wanted to touch her, just for a moment. To feel her wrapped up in his arms. If he could have that one moment, he swore to himself, to Isabelle, to whatever higher being wanted to listen, that that would be enough. That after that he could live with that one memory and it would sustain him.

"But," he moved his arm closer to her, brushing against her lightly, "I wouldn't mind dancing with you." His heart sped at the admission. The sensation new and vaguely pleasant. He never felt nervous around girls, but as he already knew, Clary was different.

His fingers twitched and he moved them slowly over to her, grazing her knuckles, and wrapping her tiny hand with his. He fought like crazy to keep it from shaking.

After what seemed like an eternity, she looked up, meeting his eyes. "Okay."

He glanced down at their clasped hands and hesitantly pulled her to him. She took a step forward and raised her other hand, laying it lightly on his arm. His breathing caught at her touch and accelerated the closer she got. Electricity popped and sparked between them, almost setting him ablaze as he slid his arm around her tiny waist, fanning his fingers out across the small of her back. The cool silk under his palm warmed almost immediately as her body heat leaked through to him. God, she was little. His hand nearly stretched the expanse of her lower back. He felt her shiver lightly. Her hand slid up his arm before resting comfortably at his shoulder. She leaned into him, allowing her body to fit flush against his.

Jace raised their hands to his chest, held them against it, and pulled her tighter, noticing how perfectly she felt next to him. She touched her forehead to him as they moved together.

After a moment, he loosened his grip on her hand, trailed down her side, and around to her back, needing to hold her closer. She didn't protest and opened her palm against his chest, trailing it up slightly to the open portion of his shirt, grasping it in her fist. Sucking in a sharp breath, he closed his eyes and lowered his face to her head, touching his lips to her hair, wanting more than anything to be able to kiss her. Neither of them spoke, neither pulled away.

Jace heard the music slow to an end, but he didn't want to let go. He couldn't. He didn't know if he'd ever have a chance to hold her like this again and he hadn't had enough. She felt so warm and soft and just like she belonged right there.

Involuntarily, his arms squeezed her lightly. She tightened her hold on his shirt and shoulder. He didn't move to release her even when the music stopped entirely. It wasn't until the DJ announced the dance over and the lights snapped on over their heads that either of them stirred.

With an inaudible sigh he said, "Clary."

"Hmm."

"The dance is over. It's time to go."

"What?" Looking up, she met his gaze. "Oh." She pulled back. "Sorry."

"It's all right." He smiled and then looked down at his shirt. "Though I will say this shirt has seen better days." Glancing back up at her, he noticed the slightly embarrassed expression on her face. "Come on. Isabelle is probably looking for you."

"And your date for you," Clary said.

He grimaced. "Oh yeah." Hell. He still had to drive Kaelie home.

"You're a horrible date, Jace Wayland."

He turned back and flashed a smile before holding the curtain aside and gesturing for her to exit before him. _You have no idea. _She ducked under his arm and flashed him a grin. He released a slow breath and watched her walk away from him, the white silk fluttering around her as she moved. Closing his eyes briefly, he held his breath and stepped out from behind the curtain, his heart a little heavier and his arms a whole lot emptier.

.o.O.o.

Not even the taut strings of his guitar under his calloused fingers could keep Jace's mind off from what happened at the dance. Usually when he played, he was able to push everything else away and just let the music take over. Not that night.

No matter what he did, he still felt her in his arms, still smelled the scent of her lingering on his body. It didn't help matters any that she slept just across the hall. He'd told himself over and over and over again he could not have her. It was a simple truth that his heart just couldn't seem to grasp.

He used the excuse of Isabelle as more of a blanket reason, but the truth was, he knew he was not good for her. She'd already had enough grief and pain. She didn't need his on top of that. It didn't matter what he wanted, he had nothing to offer anyone. His past damaged him beyond repair, a broken shell with the inability to give anything to anyone. Case in point, the Lightwoods.

Maryse and Robert had taken him in at twelve years of age, treated him like one of their own since day one. They'd given him everything they could. At least everything he would allow. They continued with his music lessons, let him play soccer, and gave him food, shelter, and love. But still he kept them at an arm's length. Something inside of him wouldn't allow anyone to get close enough. Not even he understood exactly what that was. He just couldn't.

The prospect of therapy had been discussed at length, but Jace refused. He didn't want some stranger poking around in his head. But most of all, he didn't want to relive it all. Didn't want to think about any of it. At least that's what he'd thought before. Now, he wasn't so sure. He knew he didn't want to discuss all his crap with someone who couldn't care less, but he couldn't talk about it with his family. He needed someone who understood pain. Who understood grief.

He'd noticed those qualities in Clary immediately. Even before she'd said a word, he saw it in the set of her posture, the look in her eyes. For those that lived in that same world it was obvious. And she'd seen it in him too. She didn't look at him like he was a damaged child needing to be fixed. She saw him as an equal, as someone who just needed someone else to understand, to be there, to be silent, to just be. And she was.

Setting his guitar back down on the floor, he breathed out and rubbed his hands over his face. He hated the constant struggle inside of him. The one that told him to be smart, stay away, let her heal without unloading his own baggage onto her. The other told him to pull her closer, hold her, kiss her, let her know she's not alone, use his own pain to comfort her and if possible, absorb hers into himself and free her from it forever. But the simple fact remained, he was scared. Afraid of letting anyone really see him. She'd gotten the best glimpse so far, but what would she say when she saw it all? Would she look at him with pity? Or worse yet, fear? As tough as he pretended to be, he didn't know if he could handle her looking at him like everyone else.

A small grumble from his stomach alerted him to the fact that he was hungry. Getting up and placing his pick on the nightstand, he quietly made his way out to the dark hall and down the stairs. After glancing at the clock and seeing it was after one in the morning he decided an apple would have to do. He didn't feel like taking the time to put anything together.

Grabbing a green one from the fruit bowl on the counter, he started back up the stairs. Just as he reached the top, someone exited the bathroom, running right into him. From the surprised gasp and the tremor of warmth that shot through him, he knew it was Clary.

Reaching out, he steadied her by extending his arm across her back and silenced her by cupping his hand over her mouth. "Shh, Clary. It's just me."

Her hand flew to her chest. "Jace. Where's your bell? You almost gave me a heart attack!"

He couldn't help but laugh. Why would he carry it around in the middle of the night? "Well, I didn't expect to have to use it this late."

She stared at him for a moment, her breathing finally starting to settle.

"What are you doing up anyway?" he asked, though he was more than a little happy to see her.

"Couldn't sleep. You?"

"Same. Actually, I was playing but then I got hungry." He held up the apple in his hand.

"Oh." She frowned. "Don't your parents get mad at you playing so late?"

He shrugged, not having really thought about it before. He supposed that was probably rude, but they'd never said anything about it and it was a nightly ritual for him. "They're used to it. Plus, I try to block the sound as much as I can."

She glanced up at him. "Are you going to play some more?"

"Probably."

"Oh." She looked down at her feet. "Do you—do you mind if I, you know, listen?"

For a split second, he considered her question, realizing almost immediately that he didn't. "No. I don't mind." He stepped across the hall to his room, nodding toward the opening. "Come on."

Clary bit her lip and moved past him, crossing the threshold into his room. He held his breath as she walked by, trying to remain at least partially in control because a very large portion of himself wanted to reach out and touch her again. Knowing that would be a ginormous mistake, he clenched his fists at his sides as she stopped in the center of his room and looked around. He took the moment to look her over, noticing she wore only a pair of very short gray boyshorts and a tight black tanktop. Really not good for his fragile male hormones and self control. Even worse for him was the fact that she had her Pippi Longstocking braids again. God, how he loved those braids. It was a sickness, he knew, but he couldn't help it. She looked so damn cute with them.

"Where are your trophies?" she asked unexpectedly.

He shut the door and stood in front of it, wanting to go to her, but knowing that would be a bad idea until he got himself under control. "In the closet. I don't put them out."

"Why not?"

"I don't like clutter."

She snorted. "Then you better not ever come in my room. It's a total pigsty."

He smiled, wondering if he ever might have the chance to see her room. Dismissing that thought, he walked past her toward the bed where his guitar lay. She moved across the room with him.

"So what were you going to play?"

"I don't know." He reached up and scratched the back of his head, peering over at her. "Any requests?" He'd never played for anyone before—not really. Sure, he'd let her listen from afar, but to actually have her there with him, well, that was entirely different and he didn't really know what to expect.

She raised her brows. "Really?"

He nodded, gestured to the CD's he'd laid out earlier, and sat on the edge of the bed. "Pick one." His nightly ritual was to go through his CD's, pick out a few and play whatever songs called to him from them.

Clary knelt down next to the cases and fingered them carefully. "Do you know all of these?"

"Most of them."

"You don't use sheet music?"

"No, I play by ear."

She glanced up at him, amazement clouding her eyes. "I wish I could do that."

Jace shrugged and looked down. He wasn't used to talking to anyone about his musical ability. It had always come easily for him. He'd never had to really work for it. Even during piano lessons as a kid, he'd always been way above any of his teacher's other students, surpassing her quite quickly as well. The day she'd told Maryse she couldn't teach him anymore, he'd felt rejected at first until she explained that she just had nothing more to offer him. That was when he'd picked up the guitar and taught himself how to play. After taking piano for all those years, guitar was a cakewalk. It took only a few weeks to learn all the cords and then all he had to do was listen to a song and he could play it, just like with piano. He had a "photographic memory" of sorts with music. Too bad that talent couldn't stretch to his schoolwork.

Clary shuffled through the cases and finally picked one, holding it up to him. "I like this one."

Jace reached out and plucked it from her fingers. "Hmm." He rubbed his jaw. "Which song?" he asked, though he had a pretty good idea which she might choose.

Clary smiled and got to her feet, made her way over to the bed, and sat next to him, leaning into his shoulder to look at the titles on the back, causing him to tense slightly at her proximity. Reaching out, she pointed. "That one."

He chuckled. "How did I know you'd pick that one?"

"What? What's wrong with it?"

He shook his head, still smiling. "Nothing. It's just such a girl song." And there was really nothing wrong with it. He just tended to play and sing more depressing songs, not love songs. But for her, he'd play it. In all honesty, he liked the song, too. He'd just never had a reason to play it before. Maybe now he did.

"No it's—!" She shoved his shoulder with both hands. "Shut up and just play."

He laughed again, and righted himself from her push. "All right, All right." Reaching down he grabbed his guitar, holding the neck in his right hand and the pick in his left. Before starting, he met her eyes once more, feeling a strange swell of energy build between them.

"Does it make you feel weird playing with me sitting right here?" she asked.

He studied her face for a moment before answering. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm comfortable with you." He couldn't help but smile at that fact, because it was utterly true. "Now, are you going to be quiet and let me play or are you going to keep jabbering all night?"

She scowled and then smiled, twisting her fingers in front of her lips as if to lock them.

He smiled wider and lowered his head, strumming the guitar a few times before looking up again. "Ready?"

She nodded and moved away from him a little, giving him more room to play.

He took in a deep breath, glanced down once more, and started strumming. As soon as the notes hit the air, his mind cleared of everything around him. He wasn't oblivious to the fact that Clary was there, but when he played, a soothing calm came over him, covering everything else and shielding him from it. Almost like he lived alone with it. Or that it protected him from everything else outside of himself. Before he sang the first lyrics, he closed his eyes.

The words poured from his mouth, almost without effort. Their meaning not lost on him, and the fact that he sang them all for her was evident in the accelerated beating of his heart. He may have hidden it from everyone else, including Clary, but he knew, deep inside himself that he wanted to be the one. The one to make her smile, to hold her when she was sad, the one to tell her everything would be okay, the one to _make_ everything right again. Despite his own issues, he wanted to be that for her. And even though he knew he never could be, not in the way he wished, he sank every bit of emotion he could into the words. She would never know that it was more than just a song, just a pretty tune. That it was his confession, his plea, his promise. His promise to be there, even if it was only in the shadows. It killed him to know he could never be more.

As the last note hung in the air, both of them remained completely still. Jace dropped his head, trying desperately to clear his mind and his heart of the nearly unbearable ache. As he drew in a shaky breath, he heard Clary sniff.

He looked up, his brows rising and his mouth dropping open as he placed the guitar on the floor, propping it against the bed. "Are you crying?"

Clary wiped her eyes. "No."

He got off the bed and dropped to his knees in front of her. "Yes you are. Why are you crying?" He wished he could touch her, hug her, the draw to do so was almost intolerable.

She sniffed again. "Because I'm a girl, and you're right, that's a girly song and girls cry at girly songs." She glanced up at him and a moment later a quiet sob escaped from her throat and she raised her hands to cover her face.

Jace's breath caught and his chest clenched, not having a clue as to what was wrong. Was it him? Did he do something to make her upset? Had something else happened?

After a moment, he couldn't stand not being able to see her any longer. He lifted his hands slowly and started to pry her fingers away from her face. She resisted for a second, but gave up with his persistence.

"Tell me what's wrong, Clary," he said, quietly.

She squeezed her lids shut and shook her head before opening them again. "I can't."

"Why can't you?" He hated seeing her face stained with tears so he brushed his thumbs across her cheeks, removing them as gently as he could.

"Because," she whispered. Letting out a sigh, she leaned forward and touched her forehead to his. "Because telling you will ruin everything."

"Ruin what?" He pulled back, her proximity immediately causing the carefully constructed lines he'd drawn between them to blur.

She breathed out, her breath fanning over him and causing his control to waver even more. Without warning, she raised her hands to his face, tentatively cupping his cheeks in her palms. He held back a tremor as her fingers brushed over his chin and her eyes stared unwaveringly into his. He barely noticed the fact that he didn't react to her surprise contact. The only thing he could focus on was the way she held his face in her tiny hands and the look in her eyes as she gazed at him. No one had ever looked at him that way before.

"Do you really not know?" she whispered. "Can you really not feel it?"

His eyes widened slightly before they closed and he let out a deep breath. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? No, she couldn't be. She _shouldn't_ be. As much as he wanted it, she shouldn't even entertain the idea. "Clary." He shook his head, his voice soft and pleading. Begging her not to tempt him because his resolve was nearly gone. He knew if she went any further he wouldn't be able to resist.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice barely audible and sounding almost ashamed. "I didn't—I just—I know it's—I know it's not the—same for—"

He felt his walls tumbling down all around him. Brick by brick they slowly became nonexistent, crashing to the ground, crumbling into sand and dust, leaving his heart unprotected and his brain unable to contain it any longer. His hands closed over her cheeks, mimicking her hold on his. "That's not it," he said, quietly.

As much as his mind was telling him this was wrong, he couldn't let her believe he didn't care, that he didn't feel anything. In the grand scheme of things, that probably would have been the smartest thing to do, but he couldn't. The way she looked at him, her eyes wide and pleading, her courage to even say the words, was more than he could take and remain impassive. This girl made him weak, but not in a way that was necessarily bad.

"It's not?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"Then what is it?"

"It's—a lot of things. Your mom, my sister . . . me . . ." he trailed off. "I'm not—I'm not—" _Good enough. Strong enough. Just . . . enough._

She leaned forward, leaving only centimeters between them. "Yes, you are."

"Clary, please, don't," he begged her because his mind was no longer in control.

"Why? If we both want to then . . ."

"Because—because once we go there, we can't come back."

She moved even closer, the heat from her mouth nearly searing his. "I think, maybe, we already can't."

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying his hardest to resist the draw she held over him. To refuse to give in to the overwhelming urge to press his lips to hers. To give what he knew she wanted and take what he needed. To feel her so much closer than he ever thought he'd get to her. No matter what he did at that point, everything between them would change, he knew that already and so did she. There was no way they could go back now. Not now that they both knew. How could they? But still, he couldn't make that move. He didn't want to be the one to make that final decision.

The battle between what he thought was right and what he wanted warred inside him, neither side pulling ahead until he saw tears form in her eyes. The fact that his indecision was making her sad angered him. Why couldn't he just do it already? She'd be happy, he'd be happy.

Steeling himself against the possibility that this one move could ruin everything, he made the decision to take the chance. Because what if it didn't ruin anything? What if it made everything better? What if they were both just what the other needed? Besides, who the hell was he to decide what she needed. She wanted him, he wanted her, and for once in his life, he was going to let himself have something good. Something real.

With resolve, his fingers tensed on her jaw, drawing her slowly to him. It felt like an eternity to close the mere centimeters between them, but he didn't want to rush. Didn't want to miss a single second of this first with her. As eager as he was to feel her lips against his, the anticipation of it was beyond pleasurable. The static between them grew, filling the air with a buzzing electricity. It tingled against his skin, making him want to move faster, but he didn't. He felt her breathing shift and become shallower. His eyes fell to her lips as she parted them and sucked in a tiny, sharp breath. Her hands shook against his cheeks which only made him want to get there sooner.

At the first brush of his lips against hers, her eyes fluttered shut and his followed. An explosion of warmth passed between them as her soft mouth pressed down on his, tentative yet eager at the same time. He didn't know how much experience she had, if any, so he took it slow at first just barely brushing against her.

He held her face between his hands as gently as he could, even though his instinct was to clutch her harder to him. After a moment, she leaned in further, sliding her hands from his face to the back of his neck, twisting her fists in his hair and pulling him tighter. With that encouragement, he strengthened his grip and decided to test her, opening his mouth slightly against hers. After only a brief hesitation, she mimicked his movements. Feeling a little more at ease, he tilted his head to the side slightly and took her bottom lip between his, sucking lightly. Again, she mimicked him except with his top lip.

Not wanting to seem like a pig but needing to taste her, he quickly ran his tongue along the top of her bottom lip which he still held between his. To his surprise, she opened further and copied him again, only sticking her tongue further into his mouth and tugging gently on his hair. _Okay then._

He moved his hands from her cheeks, down her shoulders, and wrapped them around her back, pulling her flush against him. Her soft little body molded right into him. She gave no resistance at all. One of his hands snaked up her spine and gripped the back of her neck as she let her fingers mingle in his curls. She seemed to like his hair a lot, which he didn't mind because it felt really good.

After a while, as much as he didn't want to, Jace finally slowed the kiss by placing a few smaller ones to her lips, and then pulling away only far enough to press his forehead to hers. They stayed that way for a few more minutes, his fingers tracing circles on the soft skin of the back of her neck and hers still running through his hair.

With a deep breath, he drew back further, meeting her eyes and moving his gaze between them, trying to gauge how she felt. Her eyes were big and bright and she seemed—happy. No, not happy, ecstatic. He raised his hands to her temples, his fingers brushing her skin gently, hoping that would let her know that he wasn't trying to be a total ass by assaulting her mouth like that. And then, because they were there and he couldn't resist them, he ran his hand down the length of her braids before he pushed out a breath and spoke again. "Well, my sister's going to kill me."

Clary stared at him for a moment and then burst out laughing.

He chuckled with her, though not really knowing why that was so funny. He wasn't joking in the least. "I'm not kidding. And so is your mother."

Clary sucked in a few deep breaths. "I know, and that's precisely why we're not going to tell them."

He puckered his lips and tilted his head, looking up at her, his fingers trailing lightly down the side of her face once more. So, she was all right keeping things on the down low. "I'm no good for you, you know."

"I know," she said with a joking edge to her voice. "But I don't care. It's about time I rebelled a little."

He twisted her braid between his fingers. "What am I going to do with you?"

"You know, I'd really like to help you figure that out, but I just can't think of anything but this one thing right now."

"Oh?" His mouth lifted in a crooked grin. She was flirting with him. After all that, she still flirted. He liked that. "And what's that?"

"Hmm." Clary wrapped her arms around his neck. "I wonder if you can guess." Leaning in, she captured his lips with hers once more.

He smiled against her mouth and pulled her tighter against him. Damn, this girl was going to be the death of him. Especially if Isabelle had anything to say about it. But that was something he'd worry about another time, because at the moment, he had a cute girl plastered to his face and sticking her tongue in his mouth. What guy could think beyond that?


End file.
